


Merry Xmas Everybody

by fairlightscales



Series: 33 and 1/3 [20]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: 1960s, 1970s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boxing Day, Christmas, Christmas Magic, F/M, Family, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Marriage, Not rated but Currant Bun is rated M for sexual content, Other characters from Poldark will be added, Relationship(s), Ross and Dem, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:49:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27403048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairlightscales/pseuds/fairlightscales
Summary: 8 Christmases, Boxing Day and one Thanksgiving
Relationships: Demelza Carne/Malcolm McNeil, Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark, Hugh Armitage/Demelza Carne
Series: 33 and 1/3 [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1420387
Comments: 109
Kudos: 29





	1. New Career In A New Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving

Malcolm came stomping up the basement steps with the dull, clumping sound of his rubber soled shoes on the wooden steps. Hugh had a practice kit for Malcolm in the basement of the townhouse as his real set was in Ladyland for the duration of their work. He turned to mount the next set of steps, to go upstairs and spied Red, still dressed in a red velvet dress laying across the sofa in the lounge with a glass of port, untouched, on the low table in front of her. Hugh came around the corner into the hall. "Whiskey, Malcolm?" asked Hugh, waggling the bottle at him. "Aye!" he chuckled. "What 'ave you done to Red? She's come over all faint!"

"Oh Blue, it was wonderful!"

Hugh, scandalized over the fact that Demelza had not seen a ballet live, made a point of remedying it. He'd taken her to see "Jewels" at Lincoln Center. She was enchanted. The wide plaza with it's fountains and humongous modern buildings, glittering with light. The theater, elegant and humming with energy and that dry, wonderfully self important "New Yorkness" the patrons of the audience exuded. Posh but different to England. A sense of casualness that was both snooty and down to earth in a configuration of style one would never see in Britain. Jewels and furs but talk of taxies, of buying this and seeing that. Of their flats and midnight supper parties, of galleries and art. He said. She said. Plans for vacations and dry comment over this hostess' soiree, and one's broker's advice, the direct abruptness of the New York way of speaking. So fascinating. The ballet itself was tremendous. Even now her head was still full of the elegant patterns of Emeralds, the saucy modernity of Rubies and the impossibly romantic Diamonds. She was overcome and draped on the sofa, dreaming. Hugh poured two drinks and handed one to Malcolm. Hugh chuckled affectionately. "Demelza has been possessed by the muse, it seems..." Her face lolled off the side of the sofa so it was nearly upside down as she smiled at them. "It was beautiful! All red and green and silver white! It was like Christmas!" she sighed. "It's too bad we'll be off home before things kick off round 'ere," said Malcolm still amused at Red's reverie. "They're mad for Christmas in New York!" He and Hugh clinked glasses and had a sip of whiskey. "Well," said Hugh, having swallowed his sip. "By the time we're installed at the Plaza there should be some Christmas spirit about. All the shops down Fifth Avenue have their windows done up in Christmas decorations." Hugh frowned. "The trouble with America is they have that Thanksgiving holiday in the way..." Malcolm objected. "If anything it's better that way. Two fuckin' huge dinners! Thanksgivin' first an' then the run up t'Christmas, Christmas dinner an' all!" Malcolm nodded in the conviction of the truth of this. "Thanksgivin' starts the engine! The minute Thanksgivin' ends in New York it's Christmastime like flipping a switch!" Red giggled and settled her head back on the seat more securely. "I don't know much about it," said Demelza. "You've had Thanksgiving dinner, Blue?" He sat on the floor, nearer to Red's level on the sofa, stretched out his leg, resting his wrist at his knee, hitched up, and dangling his drink there. "Aye! One up in 'Arlem an'..." Hugh raised his eyebrows. "You had Thanksgiving dinner up there?!" Malcolm smiled. Hugh was bohemian in a rarified, posh sort of way. Harlem might as well be the moon to him. "Aye!" crowed Malcolm, remembering the meal. "Crackin' good food! All them lassies up from the South an' cookin' from sun up! Turkey, ham, an' collard greens! All sorts! Cornbread... They feed ee so much the plate might break in two!" Dem smiled. Blue was remembering that dinner as if the plate was really in front of him. "An' for afters they 'ad every cake goin'! Pie an' all!" He swirled his glass dreamily. "They 'ad a right good cake with masses of coconut, all shredded up, on it! Christ! We ate like kings! You'd not believe it! Americans eat shedloads of food at Thanksgivin'! I 'ad another dinner, a bit more posh, but it was just as good! That guy ran the place that did radio jingles. They 'ad a buncha strays, like me, in New York but not from 'ere," He turned to Red. "All who can go back 'ome, to their mam or their granny for their dinner. Most of us visa blokes 'ad invites 'cause the Americans was sorry for us, not havin' family here. That we ain't had Thanksgivin' in our countries didn't matter. They was horrified! The bloke that had us to his just about demanded we have dinner with his family 'cause the thought of us not 'aving proper dinner was too much for 'im! You met Jean Quimper," Hugh and Demelza nodded 'yes'. "We both went to that bloke's place. It was well posh but friendly too. They wanted everyone t'ave Thanksgivin'. It's like it's illegal not to!" Hugh chuckled. "I never partook. Grandpapa had me to visit in the summers or after Christmas so I always missed it then. Once I was grown and came in for this place," he waved his glass at the walls of the room. "I never gave it much thought, even if I happened to be here in November." Dem sat up, brought her legs forward to sit properly. "It sounds delicious!" she said, picking up the glass of port. She looked to Blue, then to Hugh with a teasing smile. "I bought chestnuts and made Hugh have some!" Hugh laughed. "They were good!" said Hugh, sounding surprised that should be so. Malcolm recoiled. "You been in New York for ages an' you ain't 'ad chestnuts off the street til now?!" Hugh shrugged. "I never did. But I take taxies frequently. I'm not walking the pavement very much. I see them about but never bought any." Malcolm chuckled into his drink. "Well I'll be... There's a reason t'walk now an' again, eh? I couldn't do wi'out roasted chestnuts come the cold... If only t'warm your 'ands over the bloke's grate!" Hugh smiled and took another sip of whiskey. It had been fun to walk with Demezla after the performance and have hot chestnuts scooped into a wax paper bag from a hot pan, slit across the hulls, ready to pop out. Walking among the well heeled waiting for taxies and other folk walking where they were bound. Hugh felt quite the New Yorker when he was in residence at home but Malcolm and Demelza had introduced street culture to him in a way he'd not known he was missing. They walked twelve blocks before hailing the cab to go home. Not in any sort of rush, talking of dance. The hum of the city around them, Demelza's purchase of chestnuts on the street corner, a new way of approaching a city Hugh had always regarded as his. He was not inclined to want food cooked on a street corner. Hugh looked askance at the gruff man and his ropy looking pretzels speckled with bone white chunks of salt and round, flat pan of chestnuts, metal blackened in places under the nuts from constant use, year after year. But they did smell delicious. One didn't consider you might lose out on the fragrance of roasting nuts as a committed taxi rider. Demelza's grin and lilting hello charmed the snack seller and a smile blossomed across his face. Watching them interact was like being in a movie. The lights and bustle of the city and a gruff New Yorker, revealing his better nature by chatting with a bright eyed Cornish girl, her green coat showing a hint of her red dress at the 'v' of the collar. Her red hair in a chignon and stray tendrils at her neck, so attractive. Demelza was very attractive. It was nice to share hot chestnuts with a pretty girl in midst of a gleaming city, strolling of an evening and watching the remembrance of the ballet performance bring light to her eyes. A lovely night.

They each sank into their own thoughts, quiet with their drinks. Hugh realized they would be back in England before the Rockefeller Center tree went up and Thanksgiving. With a three month visa there was nothing for it. They wouldn't want it different. Christmas at home was better for all New York at the holidays could be magical. Demelza would be back with her children and enjoy the holiday back in the bosom of her family. Maybe a smidgen of American tradition wouldn't go amiss before they left. "I shall ask Cook," said Hugh, suddenly. "We shall have a taste of Thanksgiving on Sunday, when she has her day off. I'll ask her what we should make!" Dem liked this idea.."That sounds lovely! I'll be able to say I had a proper Thanksgiving meal in America!" Malcolm thought this was an excellent idea. "We can do a turkey, an' all," said Blue with confidence. "But we should ask 'er, nice like, to do one a them cakes! Wi' the coconut on!" Hugh smiled. Malcolm's enthusiasm for coconut cake recommended it as necessary to the proceedings. "I will put it to her, Malcolm. I should think it's easily managed."  
On Sunday, a frosted cake, white icing flecked with shredded coconut sat under a glass dome as well as a small baked tart filled with a brownish, orangey looking custard flavored with pumpkin. Hugh and Demelza looked at this confection with skepticism but Blue vouched for it as 'proper American food', having been served it at both dinners he'd attended. That Malcolm was an authority in the matters of Thanksgiving and sweets was encouraging, though his unabashed enthusiasm for strange sounding dishes like haggis still gave them pause. Cook, amused that Thanksgiving was foreign to her employer left six small squares of cornbread on a wrapped plate and six, soft bread rolls. Their fellows were bashed into crumbs and mixed into a savory stuffing, spead in a square pan, that she gave strict instructions to bake for a half hour, no more no less, as the last item of preparation. Hugh and Blue deferred to Demelza in dealing with the fat little turkey hen which she roasted with chopped bacon. They spent most of the morning sitting in the kitchen puttering there with the delicious scent of roast turkey wafting in the air. Hugh ferried the plates of cornbread and rolls to the dinning room and set the table. Blue deftly wielded a can opener to open both ends of the can and release a industrial looking cylinder of cranberry jelly which Red watched slide out of the sides of the can onto a glass dish with morbid fascination. It had the ridges of the can remain in their shape in a clouded, dark red jelly. "Ee cut it in slices..." said Blue with the authority of two Thanksgiving dinners under his belt, having seen the condiment served thusly in both places. "And it stays that way?" asked Red. "Aye. They reckon it's 'andsome that way." She took a knife and let it slice through with a slight bowing wobble of resistance and then through to the plate with a 'Clink!' of the blade stopping. It might have been a science experiment. Hugh returned to see them both bent over Demelza's portioning of the cranberry jelly like kids intently watching an ant war. "Better living through science!" quipped Hugh with a chuckle. "It's scary!" laughed Red. "Ah! But you can't have Thanksgiving without it!" joked Hugh. "I'm certain the police would fine us for lack of cranberry sauce!" Demelza, setting the slices on their side said, sagely, "Maybe they'd take pity on us, we aren't meant to know!" She smiled at Blue. "Though we do have an authority on the matter!" Blue tugged his forelock in mock modesty. "At your service!" said Blue. Hugh looked between them in good humor and went to the refrigerator to get the pan of stuffing and a glass jar. He placed the pan on the counter and began to unscrew the top from the jar. "Cook gave a strenuous warning that we pour this broth over it and bake it for a half an hour." said Hugh. "Too little and it will be 'wet', too long and it will turn 'dry'. We must be vigilant."

They sat in the lounge in a contented stupor. The temptation to overeat was difficult to resist. The stuffing; half bread, half cornbread, seasoned with onion, celery and tiny bits of sausage meat was whisked out of the oven on time, achieving a divine ratio of browned, crusted top and soft, moist interior. It paired with the turkey well, as did the cranberry sauce for all its rigidity. Creamed onions and cooked carrots rounded out the decadent lunch. They ate far too much and enjoyed a great deal of wine with the meal. By five in the afternoon they were comatose enough in the lounge that they resisted getting up to change records on the player. It was agreed that Thanksgiving dinner was an excellent meal and the cake and pie would wait until evening. They couldn't eat another bite as they were now. It is said that the devil will not set foot in Cornwall for fear of being cut up and baked in a pie. This freewheeling attitude towards pies gave Demelza advantage in taking true enjoyment in the pumpkin pie she had initially feared. Malcolm liked his slice as well. Hugh picked at his with less enthusiasm. He found it strange and unappealing. There was agreement to be had over the coconut cake. It was a soft vanilla cake sandwiched with a sweet, billowy frosting of sugar and egg white with fine strands of moist, shredded coconut meat pressed generously on the top and sides. They ate a fair amount of cake. The lightness of crumb in the fine grained cake and the taste of the frosting so well paired with the coconut made it easy to go overboard with having more. With hot tea to wash all down Red, Blue and Hugh had Thanksgiving dinner earlier than the calendar demanded but a Thanksgiving in truth. Well fed and happy with their experiment in American culture, thankful to greet another week of work in the studio, they tidied the kitchen and bid each other good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Career In A New Town, David Bowie 1977
> 
> Jewels, a three act, ballet by George Balanchine, was inspired by the jewelry designs of Claude Arpels. Considered the first full length abstract ballet, it premiered in 1967.
> 
> Aye! One up in 'Arlem: Harlem. Before Malcolm met Dem, he lived in New York City as a session player in Midtown as well as picking up gigs in jazz clubs Uptown. Blue played and socialized with jazz musicians in Harlem frequently, when most white people routinely shunned the area, and is no stranger to the Apollo theater.
> 
> You had Thanksgiving dinner up there?!: Hugh's townhouse is near Gramercy Park, the proper start of Downtown. He is firmly a Lower Manhattan denizen having grown up indulged by his intellectual grandfather in his visits to the city in this townhouse, bequeathed to him upon Grandpapa's death. Harlem is a scary no man's land of blight and social ills to Hugh. (Not entirely incorrect, but not the whole picture) It would not cross his mind to go Uptown and he never went to the Apollo Theater, though he understands the storied venue deserves respect for its historical importance.
> 
> billowy frosting of sugar and egg white: seven minute frosting, a variant of meringue


	2. Little Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Repost of "Hazy Shade Of Winter", chapter seven of "Little Wing"

I. Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing In The Shadow?

"Ross?"  
"MmmHmm..." Ross was bent down, having slung his army rucksack onto the floor by two of the Fender cases in the hall. It was a week before Christmas and they would spend it in London. "Why is it you never use the fifth Fender?" Demelza had peeked once. Ross had five, identical black Fender Statocasters, but the fifth, presumably the oldest one-scratched, paint worn away in places and a heart scraped into the front-never left its case. Ross stood up and turned to face her. "It's retired." This was not a satisfactory answer. Dem followed him into the parlor as Garrick trotted next to her. "But why?" Ross turned to look at her. He was about to put his Gibson in its case. They would load the car and drive to the flat tomorrow. He set it back on its stand. "You want your Gibson with us?" The maple six string had been Ross' but Dem had used it for two years and laid claim of ownership in that way. "Yes please." she said. "Is it broken? Is that why you don't use it?" Ross smiled a tired smile. Dem could see she had poked a sore spot with him. "I'm sorry, Ross I didn't mean to annoy you..." He sighed. "It's alright, Dem." He sat on one of the pews and nodded that she should sit across from him. She and Garrick came to sit, she across from Ross and Garrick at her feet.  
"That was my first electric guitar. My mother gave it to me for Christmas when I was eleven. After she died, I didn't play it anymore." He paused. "Papa bought me my second one and I bought the others. One in a pawn shop in New York and the other two in London. One new, one second hand but practically new." He looked at his lap, briefly, then looked up and continued. "It isn't broken, I just don't use it anymore." Dem felt sorry for Ross. And sympathy. Dem had nothing to link her with her late mother, it seemed a shame that he didn't use it, a direct link to his mother. "Not even on Christmas?" Ross looked at her with a mixture of amusement and bafflement. "What?" She was relieved to see Ross looking bemused, she worried she might have made him cross. "I mean, it was your Christmas present, your Christmas guitar! You don't play it at Christmas?" Ross smiled. Dem had a horrible father who had beaten her to a degree that should have gotten him sent down to prison. This was the wedge that allowed Ross to look after her, the leverage he kept over Tom Carne. Dem constantly amazed Ross with her capacity to see the good in things. In spite of her nightmarish upbringing and no mother to bring her up, she saw the good in things more clearly than he chose to most of the time. He sighed. "No, Dem. Not even at Christmas." They smiled. Ross gave a chuckle. "Are you packed?" Dem smiled. "Yes! My case is all packed!" "Good," said Ross, "Bring it down before you go to bed. I want to sort out packing the car in the morning.

That night, Ross stared at the canopy of his bed. It had been his parent's bed. He hadn't quite thought about it in those terms until tonight. He might have been conceived where he was lying right now. Ross missed his parents. Joshua was, admittedly, self centered after Grace died. But he had noticed that he had not heard Ross' guitar, had not had to grumble and demand that Ross turn the volume down on the amplifier. When Ross, tearfully, told his father he could not bear to use his Fender, Joshua marched him into the car, drove to Truro, bought another black Stratocaster and drove back to Nampara. Joshua was not a demonstrative parent. He was from a time and place where it was seen to be spoiling and a mark of weakness to show too much affection as a man. Cuddles and affection were a woman's domain. But that day, when Papa bought his second Fender, Ross felt his love as if he had hugged him. He felt his love then... He turned about. Ross could not settle. He pulled on his jeans and went downstairs to the library. He turned on the light on the desk and turned to the three guitar cases. Having told himself he was bringing the small amp into the hall, to pack the car, he lifted the amplifier and set it next to Dem's suitcase. But he went back to the library and knelt down by the rectangular guitar cases. He hesitated. He pulled out the one on the left and set it flat. He closed his eyes and bent his head, as if he were in prayer-though he was not. He steeled himself.  
Upon opening the case, his eyes, at once, went to the heart he had carved in it. A child's toy in some ways. Utterly abused by a silly kid who probably didn't deserve a guitar of this quality at that young an age. The paint was chipped, worn away and rubbed off in places. It had been bonked about and scratched. He'd carved a heart in it with his penknife, after his mother died. A destructive impulse but a heartfelt one. He'd learned his craft on this Strat. It was the progenitor of its siblings for he remained loyal to this style of Fender and considered all other electric guitars-even other Fender models-somewhat suspect. Lacking. Other styles lacked what the Strat gave Ross. Stratocasters were unadorned but strangely elegant. They were precisely the right heft. No more, no less. He brushed his fingers across the heart. The gouges and scratches and grooved marks of the poor job he had made of it he could feel as he touched it. It was an intense form of braille. He had loved her. He shut the case, set it back in its place and went back to bed.

The car was packed and they set out on their journey. Garrick lay on the floor of the backseat next to Dem who had the maple Gibson and strummed and played as Ross drove. He enjoyed her accompaniment as they drove along. She was a quick study and had a very good ear. Her obsessive attention to his blues records gave her the strong grasp of playing the blues she showed now. He chided himself. She was no different than him or any other blues mad British boy but even he caught himself thinking, 'she plays well, for a girl...' He knew he wouldn't think twice about a fourteen year old boy playing that well. He smiled. Dem was probably the only positive outcome from his heroin addiction. If he hadn't been on his way, in the dead of night, to get his script filled with all the other late night junkies, they would have never met. Dem was his pal. He looked after her and they enjoyed music together. Her coming to live at Nampara spared her from her father's abuse and was the impetus for him to get clean. Her Majesty's government changed its tack with addicts. Had he remained registered Ross would have ended up under the new regime. Having grown alarmed at the increase in heroin users, the government began cracking down. Ross might have ended up arrested. Or dead. It wasn't lost on Ross that he had been losing his battle with smack. If he kept on, he might have died. Dem started singing. She could sing very well. That a fourteen year old Cornish girl did not sound like a black, Southern blues man was not an understatement.

I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees  
I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees  
Asked the Lord above, "Have mercy, now, save poor Bob if you please"  
Ooh, standin' at the crossroad, tried to flag a ride  
Ooh-ee, I tried to flag a ride  
Didn't nobody seem to know me, babe, everybody pass me by  
Standin' at the crossroad, baby, risin' sun goin' down  
Standin' at the crossroad, baby, eee-eee, risin' sun goin' down  
I believe to my soul, now, poor Bob is sinkin' down

Ross laughed softly. They sped along the motorway. "Have you got the blues, Dem?" He saw her smile in the rear view mirror. "Sure I do! Doesn't everyone get the blues sometimes?" She played the Crossroad Blues intro again and treated Ross to 'The Demelza Carne blues'

I got the Hempel common  
Cottage pudding, semolina  
Spotted Dick blues...

Ross thumped one hand on the steering wheel and started laughing. Garrick started to bark.

I got the Ruth Teague  
Wretched horror  
Little bitch  
Hempel common blues

I'm gonna smack her round the gob  
And kick her with my shoes...

Ross was laughing in earnest. Garrick stood up in the car and barked louder. "Dem!" Ross was laughing like a little boy. "If you don't want me to crash the car, you're going to have to play something sensible!"  
The drive to London was very long but, somehow, Ross and Demelza did not mind it.

II. Burning Of The Midnight Lamp

Ross watched Dem, serenely, gliding past in a different aisle of Sainsbury's to him. This confused him until he realized she was standing on the back of the shopping trolley that Dwight was pushing so her feet were not on the ground. The other, well heeled, shoppers studiously ignored the spectacle of Dem, Dwight and Ned loudly debating the merits of the groceries they were choosing. Ross had laughed more in the past 48 hours than he may have done in years. This was a happy time for their first album sold well and had pleased EMI, the tour they were scheduled to have in Europe was all arranged and they had played Blaises Club to a judgmental audience of industry types and their peers and came away victorious. Resurgam felt like young gods by the end of the night. Ross enjoyed himself immensely and now would enjoy the holiday. They would return to Blaises tomorrow, to hang out. London was buzzing with excitement over a guy who'd come over from America with Chas Chandler, one of the members of The Animals. Ross wanted to see if all the hype was justified. They would have their Christmas dinner at the flat. Ross was voted down when he suggested a restaurant. Ned was particularly against it. "Only waifs n' strays don't have a home to go to Christmastime! You wouldn't catch me in a restaurant!" So with Dem swanning to the cash desk like a princess on a parade float, they bought a handsome piece of beef and all the trimmings for a roast dinner, a Christmas pudding in a plastic basin, candy and nuts, a box of Christmas crackers and food for Garrick.

December 22, 1966

Ross insisted that they get to Blaises, a club in the basement of the Imperial Hotel, early. Much earlier than a 'cool' scenester would. Things would not kick off for hours and hours but Ross wanted a table near the stage and he intended to camp there until this American bloke turned up. Ross also brought a Strat with him. At holiday time, it wasn't unheard of to simply jam for the fun of it and there would be hours to kill before things really got going. Dem was excited for she had a cute mini dress, dark blue with red piping on the pockets and a placket of shiny red buttons at the neck, blue tights and a pair of short black boots with a little kitten heel. She felt very grown up. Ned had a dark blue fisherman's sweater, over a white tee shirt, blue jeans and rather clunky boots on, for he wasn't playing and didn't have to use his feet on the bass drum today. Dwight had a button down shirt that looked patterned in dark green, like flowers, but actually had little faces in it, if one got close enough to look and dark trousers with thick soled brogue shoes. Ross wore a ragged looking henley jumper, once black but faded to grey over a black tee shirt that showed the state of the fading worse, black jeans and black riding boots. It was contrary, but the tattiness of the sweater, one he favored at wintertime for it was thick and warm, made him look more regal somehow. His hair seemed darker and glossier and his scar, properly healed but still visible made him look serious, mysterious. They were a formidable group in a room filling up with the cream of London's music scene. Dem was startled to see Jeff Beck. This guitarist had the city in a lather of anticipation. Dem was more surprised when it was clear he knew Resurgam and they knew him. He exchanged a nodded greeting with Ross from across the room as the guitarist went for a drink and his girlfriend gravitated to the two tables in the middle of the room, both filled with wives, girlfriends. After a time, one of the ladies came to their table. "Merry Christmas, lads!" To a man they raised their glasses to her. "Merry Christmas!" said Ross. "And who is this?" she said, turning to Dem. "I'm Dem!" Demelza read enough music papers to know she was speaking to a rock wife of renown. "Come and sit with us, doll!" Dem looked to Ross who nodded and scampered after her to the other women, feeling puffed up with pride. Dwight laughed, "We have a girl at the 'bird's nest'!" They laughed heartily. "Resurgam!" Ned hoisted his drink and they laughed like a drain as they made their toast. Having downed them, Ross went to get more. On the way, struggling through the room, greeting people as he passed, he caught the eye of George Warleggan who gave a nod in his direction. Ross nodded in turn. George was a guy Ross had known at school, and now on a mission to establish his record label to a higher profile. This guitarist brought all the creatures out from under their rocks thought Ross. He asked that more drinks be brought to their table and a Coca Cola be sent to Dem. He was annoyed when George chose to sit with them. "Well met, Ross! Happy Christmas!" "Happy Christmas, George. Dwight, Ned, this is George Warleggan." They nodded their greeting. Ross was momentarily relieved of his irritation with Warleggan when Dem raised her soda to them and looked happy to be fussed over by the glamorous women at the table around her. "Is that the girl you adopted?" Ross gave a snort of laughter. "In a manner of speaking..." Ross meant that he was not her guardian through legal adoption. George, knowing the the gossip about Ross and Dem in Cornwall, took it as a sly admission of Ross' debauchery of her. He grinned as if Ross had taken him into his confidence. "Are you back to Cornwall for Christmas?" Ross disliked this question. George was always a busybody. "We'll be back at New Years." George knew of Resurgam's success at EMI. He was always envious of Ross who had an ancient family name in Cornwall and didn't seem to give a damn about it. The Warleggans were seen as 'new money', an upstart family, trying to pass muster in a landscape of older families who turned their noses up at them. Ross brought out all of George's worst impulses. "I heard you lot played here!I heard it was well received!" Ned nodded. "Yeah! I heard Island Records turned you away with a flea in your ear when you offered to buy 'em out!" Dwight and Ross looked to Ned with amusement. That was cattier than Ned usually allowed himself with corporate types. George covered his annoyance with a pleasant smile. "We have patience. One day, they'll come running... compliments of the season." George got up and left, making a point of ignoring Ross and his rag tag, loser band sniggering at him as he left.

Resurgam recovered themselves from their mirth as they nodded a greeting to Eric Clapton. He came to their table to exchange season's greetings and Ross smiled to see Dem goggle eyed when Clapton said hello to the ladies. Dem knew Resurgam was on EMI but somehow didn't consider that they knew 'proper' rock stars. Her eyebrows raised more when Jeff Beck sat across from Ross. "Alright, mate?" Ross shook his hand across the table as did Dwight and Ned. "Have you seen this guy play?" asked Ross. "Naw. My bird said 'you need to see him, he's the best guitarist ever!' And, I'm like, 'Gee, thanks a lot!" They all had a good laugh. "You had a good set the other night..." said Beck. "Thanks!" said Dwight. Ross took a sip of his drink. "I expect he's good," Ross waved his hand about, "But anyone in here can play blues properly." He took another sip of his drink. "Even Dem can play blues." Beck gave a snort of a laugh. "You sayin' that kid can play guitar?" "Yes." said Ross, not seeing the challenge coming. Beck turned to look at Demelza, chatting happily at the 'bird's nest'. The women were happy to have a kid to entertain them. She might as well have been a living doll. He turned to Ross and laughed in a good natured way."Bollocks!" Ned smiled. "Oi! Ross ain't foolin'! Our Dem can play!" Beck looked to Dwight. Dwight, having been amused by the exchange said, "She's as good as anyone here." Dwight Enys told Jeff Beck, with a straight face, that the slip of a girl at the girlfriend table could play as well as some of the men who would become the most famous guitarists of the twentieth century. Ross folded his arms. Resurgam had thrown down the gauntlet. Beck looked to Ross' guitar case and smiled. "Prove it!" Ross' eyebrows raised and they all grinned. "You lot are sayin' Little Orphan Annie over there can play blues, I want to hear it!" They clinked their drinks and Dwight went to retrieve Dem from the ladies. After taking a bit of time to flirt with them, he said, "I have to claim Dem. Resurgam has had their honor challenged and only Dem can rectify it!" Demelza's eyes widened. She went back with Dwight and came face to face with Jeff Beck. "Alright, girl?" he said, warmly. She nodded her her, too star struck to speak. "Dem," said Ross, "Would you play some blues for us please?" Her voice went as high as Minnie Mouse. "Here?!" Ross' smile was warm and reassuring. "Yes, Dem. You can use my Fender." She looked at Ross and Ned and Dwight. She looked at Jeff Beck who looked at her fondly. "Come on, girl. Play us something. Ross says you're a natural!" She smiled. If they thought she could, then she could. But her nerves betrayed her. "Ais!" with a blush. She hadn't used her Illugan way of saying 'yes' for some time now. Ross turned to Beck. "Dem can play. You'll see." They made their way to the front and Ross plugged in his Fender after a brief chat with the club owner, to explain what was happening. Having an impromptu jam session was not an odd thing. Having a young girl flanked by Jeff Beck and Ross Poldark made it quite more interesting. The music over the speakers was turned off and Ross asked Beck if he wanted to jam first. Ross had no doubt Dem would do well but she was nervous and star struck and it would give her time to settle. Ross was a person who kept himself to himself, a quirk of his personality made more ingrained by his former heroin use. But he and his band were just as legitimate as all the big names. Ross had been a Mod at the same time as many of the musicians that became jaw droppingly famous. He was a known quantity among the patrons of Blaises. Playing with Jeff Beck did not phase him. They were peers as far as Ross was concerned. Beck retrieved his guitar and they traded lines through some old blues numbers. The crowd watched with interest and Dem watched with pride, as Ross had hoped, not to show off in front of her, but to put her at ease. She played with Ross the same way, all the time. If Ross could play with Jeff Beck, so could she. Playing the stage at Blaises was no different than playing at the parlor in Nampara. Ross was proving it so. They enjoyed playing together and Ross' smile was infectious. They finished to applause and they clapped each other's back and joked back and forth a bit. Then Ross asked Dem to come up and he placed his Fender on her, adjusting the strap. He pushed the microphone lower. Beck went back and sat with Ned and Dwight who beamed smiles at 'their Dem'. Ross bent down to speak into the mic, which was now too short for him. "Happy Christmas!" The room exploded with cheers and "Happy Christmas" yelled back to him. "May I present Miss Demelza Carne..." Ross jumped down and sat near to her on the edge of the stage. He smiled. Ned yelled "G'on, girl!" Someone else called out, "Oh yeah, 'cause she's got the blues!" There was laughter, good natured but laughter all the same. A young girl in a mini dress playing the blues. Dem crinkled her nose. 'Oh, really', she thought. She strummed so she could hear herself and then started playing Crossroad Blues as she had in the car when they drove to London. But the lyrics were not Robert Johnson's at all. Ross' mouth fell open and then shut back up as Dem played the blues, in Blaises club, in front of the rock demi monde of London.

I was born in Illugan  
Strap across my back  
I was born in Illugan  
Strap across my back  
I hitched a ride with my dog in a lorry  
And I never looked back

Within her first solo, she played long, sliding chords that they soon recognized as the sound cars would make speeding past a lorry. Claps and hoots started around the room. Dem was not mimicking a record. She was playing. She made her guitar sound like an angry truck driver, honking his horn and everyone laughed and started to cheer her more.

I went down to the crossroad  
Fell down on my knees  
I went down to the crossroad  
Fell down on my knees  
I asked the Lord above  
To save a wretch like me

Dem played the break of Crossroad Blues, in the middle of Blaises club, giving notice to all who saw her that she could play, having just as much experience studying the old blues records as any one of them and that she had come by her 'blues' honestly. More honestly perhaps than a bunch of pampered English boys playing blues by rote. Ross and Dem shared a private joke before she sang her ending. She in the midst of her second solo she made the guitar 'say' "I AM twelve!" Ross blinked with the recognition of it, he had challenged her age when they first met, and he laughed and started clapping which egged on the audience to clap and yell encouragement to her. She sang to finish,

God heard my pleadin'  
He heard what I said  
God heard my pleadin'  
He heard what I said  
For He took me from Illugan  
And sent me to the Valley Of Bread

She finished with the flourish of a standard blues ending and the room exploded with applause. Dem looked to Ross who looked as proud as any parent and shook hands with Jeff Beck, who played Little Red Rooster with her before she sat back down. Resurgam's honor was assured. The next twenty minutes was a surreal blur for Demelza as all the faces in Blaises came to Resurgam's table to congratulate Dem and wish her a merry Christmas. When Eric Clapton told her she played well, Dwight and Ned wondered if she might actually faint, but she did not. The Christmas fun continued as other guitarists played and caroused and waited for the American to arrive. By one in the morning, he entered the club.  
Ross ate his words. Jimi Hendrix was beyond anything the Blaises crowd had ever seen, ever heard and put London on notice that the British blues rule book was torn up and set on fire. There were points when everyone sat with their mouths agape. Dem felt like the entire world had changed. He was that good. It excited her. What struck fear in the other guitarists, even Ross was shocked at Hendrix's originality to the point Ross worried he was a pretender, made Dem beside herself with the glee of being given 'permission' to do what ever you wanted to with a guitar. Jimi Hendrix laid waste to them all. It was absolutely thrilling. When he finished, more jamming resumed. Hendrix was eager to play with Beck and Clapton. He knew of them and was happy to be in England and be able to meet them. As the night was late, Ross, Ned and Dwight looked amongst themselves and decided to head home. The American was all he was cracked up to be. They gathered up their things and Ross retrieved Demelza's coat and they made their way out. As they got closer to the stairs that led out they gave their goodbyes and Christmas greetings. Dem had smears of lipstick on her cheeks and forehead from so many of the ladies giving her a Christmas kiss and lauding her for giving the lads a run for their money. Ross turned on the staircase the see her hopping though the room towards them and his smile of satisfaction was a picture. She came nearer and, before she mounted the steps, they exchanged happy smiles. Ross turned in his long dark coat holding his Fender case and went up and out as Dem stamped up the steps in her little boots and disappeared into the night.

Dem and Garrick sat on the floor of the flat watching the Boxing Day transmission of Top Of The Pops. They would go back to Nampara tomorrow. Ross and Dem had a fun Christmas with Dwight and Ned and were still excited over Dem's triumph in Blaises and seeing Jimi Hendrix play. Ross lay across the sofa with a beer, feeling content. He looked forward to Resurgam's first tour of Europe and getting back in the studio to work on their second album. He wasn't given to wanting to be part of the crowd. Even when he was a Mod, he had a sense of detachment among the others around him. But the sensation he had of belonging this week cheered him. He was firm friends with Ned and Dwight, who stood by him even when he was wrecked on drugs, he held court in Blaises as much as anyone else in the room and watched Dem receive her due. Not just play and be applauded but have her heroes come by to tell her she'd done well. He felt so much pride in her and happiness for her as he sat back and watched. 'Valley of Bread'... Dem had asked Ross what 'Nampara' meant, early, when they first arrived. Her back hadn't altogether healed at that point. How many of them sang a common lyric like 'strap across my back' and thought they knew what they were singing? Being caned at school or given a hiding over bad behavior. How many guys could sing that and know what it meant, as Dem did, so cruelly treated by her father? She played her blues that night... He looked at her nodding her head in time to the pop music on TV with Garrick in her lap. A girl could do worse, being raised by a rock guitarist, thought Ross.

III. Little Wing

Garrick ran around the back of the house. There was a light coating of snow so his paw prints could be seen stamped into the ground. Letting off nervous energy from being in a car for so long. Dem pulled her suitcase from the boot as Ross brought the amp into the library. They could smell chicken broth and bacon, which made both of them hurry to finish unloading the car. Ross left the Fender cases in the hall and they went to the kitchen. Jud looked up from his newspaper. "Bad pennies return..." Prudie rolled her eyes at Jud. "Hush yer clack" She smiled at Ross and Dem from the stove. "Warm up, then, There be soup waitin'" Ross and Dem took places at the table and exhaled a satisfied sigh as they were each presented with a hot bowl of potato and leek soup and a warm, pillowy bap, toasted on the inside and filled to burst with fried bacon. They were happy to savor each bite and the mop their bowl with the last wanting edge. Home. Dem told Jud and Prudie all about their Christmas in London and Ross smiled to hear it retold. It had been a very merry Christmas.

After Dem went to bed that night, Ross brought the Fenders back into the library. He went back to the parlor, intending to play his Gibson for a bit. He felt a drag at him though. Though it was late, acoustic guitar didn't suit his mood. Still recovering from having his brain wiped clean from seeing Jimi Hendrix, he went back to the library and put the amp at a low volume. He knew it was late but he wanted to play electric. He reached for his closest Fender and thought better of it. He pulled out the fifth case and came around to the desk where he opened the case on the floor and removed his first Strat. He plugged it in and sat at the desk. He worked to get it in tune. Once it was satisfactory, he sat back, resting his feet up on the desk and let himself become reacquainted with it. He lay his head back and strummed in an aimless way. He had not played this guitar for years and he was struck by how it did feel different from the others. This Strat had a ghost weight to it. An angel's portion. There was an extra shadow living within it, though he couldn't have known until now. He irritatedly rubbed his eyes. He'd cried too many tears for his mother. He should take a leaf from Dem's book. Take the time to remember the happiness of loving his mother. It was not part of his nature, but Ross could see that even an old dog could learn new tricks, if one tried hard enough...

Dem heard a faint, electric, rendition of 'Amazing Grace' coming through the floorboards. That wasn't a Christmas song, but it did sound Christmasy. Ross had been very happy in London. It was nice when he smiled and laughed. He wasn't gloomy all the time but he was rarely as lighthearted as he was while they were away. And Ross was a proper rock star! He spoke to people she had seen on TV like they were schoolmates. And they spoke to her too, like she was a proper guitarist! She snuggled under the covers, a little annoyed that her hot water bottle had gone cold. She pulled her knees to her chest and remembered how grand it felt to be at the table with all the women. They showered her with affection early in the night and treated her like a princess after she played guitar. They told her she played as good as a boy! She felt her cheeks go red and she smiled as she slept to the electric guitar whispering through the house. In 1966, being 'as good as a boy' was high praise indeed. Demelza smiled, and slept and dreamed her happy dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hazy Shade Of Winter, Simon and Garfunkel 1966
> 
> Crossroad Blues, Robert Johnson 1937
> 
> Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing In The Shadow?, The Rolling Stones 1966
> 
> Burning Of The Midnight Lamp, Jimi Hendrix 1968
> 
> Little Wing, Jimi Hendrix 1967
> 
> Cottage pudding: A square of plain cake in dessert sauce. I grew up only having had it with lemon sauce but a search engine search has shown that any sweet dessert sauce can be cottage pudding.
> 
> Semolina: A milk pudding made with semolina wheat, sometimes with cinnamon sugar on top.
> 
> Spotted Dick: A steamed cake, speckled with dried fruit, usually currants.
> 
> "Hempel Common": A common is the area where students take their lunch/breaks. Ross is in hysterical laughter because Dem's blues song could also be seen as a reference to her working class background-joking that she is "common". Also, "dick" is American slang for male genitalia. Dem is singing about desserts at school and fantasy revenge on her school enemy. Her inclusion of Spotted Dick makes Ross laugh like a drain, having been to America and knowing the double meaning even if Dem does not.
> 
> Bap: a soft bread roll, a sandwich bun.
> 
> Jeff Beck saw Jimi Hendrix play at the club Blaises, named for the James Bond-esque girl spy Modesty Blaise. Having found December 22nd as a date for Hendrix having played there is the basis of the story, though I don't know if that was the night Beck was present. Nearly every famous guitarist in London heard the buzz and wanted to see him in clubs like Blaises and Bag O' Nails. Various Beatles were present at Bag O' Nails, but including real Beatles in this story might have made poor Dem faint.
> 
> I'd like to think that Hendrix, who had not met Ross or Dem, might have spared a thought for the young red headed girl with watercolor eyes shadowing a dark haired man in a long black coat in Blaises Club, when he started writing the songs for Axis Bold As Love, but I can't presume to know...
> 
> One does not have to know the songs that are chosen for the chapter and sub chapter titles in any of the 33 and 1/3 stories, but if you do not know the song "Little Wing" you should listen to it as it is very beautiful.


	3. Why Don't We Do It In The Road?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas 1968

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A repost of "The Holly and the Ivy", chapter six of "Why Don't We Do It In The Road?"

I. You're All I Need To Get By

Elizabeth was seated at her dressing table, wearing a silk slip, holding a flacon of perfume, scenting herself with it in a ritualized manner that looked vaguely occult. She used the small protrusion in the stopper to place a drop on each inside wrist, the crook of each elbow, behind each ear and a final drop in the center of the back of her neck. Francis always stopped what he happened to be doing to watch her scent herself. It was a fascinating procedure. She looked at him in the mirror with a smile. Christmas was not a truly formal affair for the Trenwith Poldarks, though they did enjoy dressing with a nod to the festive season. Francis was buttoning the cuffs of his shirt and about to don a dark blue cashmere sweater rather than a wool one. Elizabeth had a very pretty brocade dress, floor length, crimson, woven with roses shot through with gold, laying on the bed, to be worn with gold leather, almond toed shoes. They'd made love, a rare occurrence since the birth of Geoffery Charles three years earlier. They had drifted apart from each other from that point. Something in the knowledge that they would be hosting Ross and Dem compelled them to reach out to each other today. Dutch courage, perhaps. Seen and considered on their own merits, the Trenwith Poldarks would seem to be more fortunate than their Nampara cousins. Together they had wealth, a grand estate, the respect of the community and an heir in the wings to stand with Francis and his father, Charles, as one of the most important families in the county. But, should the glossy surface of these niceties be scratched, truer colors would emerge. Francis and Elizabeth entered their marriage believing they loved each other. Francis, heir to Trenwith, had the added outcome of acquiring the sort of wife he was expected to have. Elizabeth was a covetable prize and, perhaps, uncharitably, a sign of victory over his dashing cousin Ross as well as the other suitors who might have wanted her for themselves. The prize was barbed, though. Francis quickly came to see they had little in common and that his victory over Ross was, at best, a token. She remained a faultless society wife but there was little that bound them together emotionally and the previous relationship with Ross seemed to plague her in some unspecified way. Francis, who also felt a bit uncomfortable in himself because of his father's critical attitude towards him, he felt he was a pretender as an heir, for his father was reluctant to give him more responsibilities in business matters, and a pretender as a husband, a Poldark of last resort. That his status in the community sweetened her acceptance of him did not surprise or upset him. It did surprise him to see how hollow their life felt. Ross had the hard luck that often befalls the side of a family denied the largess of the heir's portion. Ross' late father was the second son and scandalized the district as a notorious womanizer. It was nothing to Joshua Poldark to pursue, catch and then abandon any woman who caught his eye, be they married or unmarried. He created scandal after scandal in an district that, from time immemorial, was fueled by gossip. Joshua's antics were one of the very few topics of talk that did not need embellishment. His behavior was so extreme there was no need to exaggerate. The Nampara Poldarks remained the branch of relations that held a dodgy reputation, father and son. A good portion of the county, indeed, the country, looked askance at Ross' marriage to his sixteen year old ward and their unconventional life as musicians. But Ross and Dem had a bit of glamour about them too. Ross' band, Resurgam, was signed to EMI and the media storm over their wedding gave them a notoriety that made them a bit larger than life. They also seemed to possess true love and the right to call their souls their own. Francis and Elizabeth who kept up appearances, the one thing that kept them afloat in a relationship with little to bind them together, felt unnerved to be in their company tonight. Francis knew Ross had been furious when he lost Elizabeth to Francis and it strained what had been a close and friendly relationship between them up to that point. Elizabeth, who had been Ross' girlfriend in the early sixties, the toast of Modernist London, was ill at ease. Ross had been the sharpest 'face' on the scene, immaculate and fashionable. She understood Ross in those terms. She was baffled by his embrace of the counter culture movement. She had come upon Ross and Dem at Nampara one morning and was shocked to see them both looking slovenly and oversexed. His hair had grown as wild as the girl's and he had abandoned his fine suits and elegant shoes to dress more like a farmer. He was an alien. Perhaps she never knew him properly. That didn't stop her fascination with him though. More than once since that morning, did she wonder at the idea of what it would be like to abandon herself to lust as they had done and consider what Ross was capable of in the throes of that sort of passion. Passion for that odd red headed girl...passion for her...  
So the Trenwith Poldarks armed themselves that Christmas Eve. United in the face of Charles' declining health, after a heart attack some months earlier, the ill health of Elizabeth's mother and her increasingly needy demands. United as they were reared to be, the emerging head of one of the best families in Cornwall. They could try harder to be those people at Christmas, while hosting a couple who might show them up for all their faults.

After a brief period of consideration, Dem chose the maple six string to bring to Trenwith rather than her twelve string with the extravagant, inlay, mother of pearl flowers. A vain little part of her wanted to bring the twelve string to show Elizabeth that Ross had given her such a present. But she knew that Elizabeth wouldn't care about the quality of any of their guitars and that the impulse was immature. The carols they had been playing recently didn't need the extra flourish of a double stringed sound anyway. She sat at her dressing table. She had no need to scent herself with perfume because she had found a small shop in London that sold Indian goods and was scented from head to toe from a bar of sandalwood soap she'd bought there. She wore a rich, dark red, velvet mini dress with a square neck and long sleeves that had a bell like flounce at the wrists. This worn with white tights and red shoes with a modest heel. Ross had bought her a small, script 'D' in gold, hung from a finely wrought gold chain and it sat in the hollow beneath her throat. She watched Ross getting dressed in her mirror. He had been amused by seeing Mick Jagger going around London in a series of 18th century waistcoat vests-proper ones with florid embroidery, like a peacock. But the style grew on Ross. He wore a dark green vest, without embroidery but cut in a similar manner to that older style. He wore an ivory linen shirt and dark trousers with the Spanish boots Biba had sent him upon their wedding being announced in the papers. He looked, if possible, more wholly 'Ross' than she had ever seen and it made her smile. He saw her smile in the mirror. He crossed the room and bent down, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I think we'll pass muster..." he joked. They looked at their reflection. They were each a little nervous. Elizabeth had been Ross' first love and they had a complicated, emotional pull towards each other for all they were finished as a couple. She had been very cold and judging towards Ross and Demelza before they wed and they both had reason to enter this Christmas party with a bit of trepidation. She tilted her chin to look up at his face and he gave her a clumsy kiss on the nose that made them both laugh. He went downstairs. Dem looked at herself in the mirror again. She hoped she could make it through dinner. Her pregnancy was still secret. She didn't want to tell the rest of the Poldarks and so kept Ross in the dark as well. They might well find out because her nausea seemed to be worse in the late hours of the day. Dem was frightened she might sick up her Christmas dinner. She gave a sigh. She and Ross had the most wonderful summer and now had a child on the way. She didn't look forward to dealing with Elizabeth and hoped she wouldn't embarrass herself at Trenwith. Elizabeth already thought little of her. Whether her nausea was her own nerves or the baby, she couldn't tell.  
They drove to Trenwith with their guitars and a tin holding a second Christmas cake that they would give to their hosts in the back seat. They could not bring themselves to make conversation. They were aware that they both had cause to be nervous. Ross kept himself to himself for the most part. Had Verity not been in London, he would not have sought her out at Trenwith. He had not spoken to Francis or Elizabeth or Charles until he was on the verge of leaving for Resurgam's tour. He owed it to them to speak to them directly about marrying Demelza, even if it hadn't gotten into every newspaper going. Perhaps they would find a truce between their houses. If he had Dem and Francis had Elizabeth, what reason could be left to continue the avoidance?

II. The Christmas Song

Demelza was struck by the imposing grounds and grand house of Trenwith. They parked on the gravel drive and approached the house with Ross carrying both guitars and Dem holding the cake tin like one of the Three Kings bearing gifts. Before they could ring the bell, Verity came rushing out ,with no coat, to greet them, warmly, as Ross set down one case, briefly, to catch her up in a hug.  
"Happy Christmas!" she gushed.  
They both felt instantly at ease. However fraught their feelings about this party, Verity's friendship with them both was a strength of the event. They both started to feel festive rather than pensive. Verity took Dem's arm, dressed in a deep blue, velvet, midi length dress with matching blue court shoes and sheer black stockings with a sheen of silver glitter in them. Dem took notice. Verity was quite modest but her dress sense was formidable. The scooped neck accented her round face and the blue seemed to reflect in and deepen her brown eyes with a hint of purple about them. Very fetching. The main entrance hall was formal with a Christmas tree tall enough to require a ladder to trim it. Ross moved through the place with the nonchalance of someone who had grown up here as much as Nampara while Dem was awed. She thought Ross' houses were grand. Trenwith put them both quite humble. In truth, she preferred the coziness of Nampara and the London flat to the church like grandiosity. No wonder Elizabeth was so serene. She floated above her surroundings for she lived like a princess. She surely did not help clean and look after this house as Dem did with Prudie. Dem did not envy her that. Perhaps she was common, thought Dem. She liked to have their home around them and make their meals and take care of the place-make it a home. Trenwith was disturbingly like a museum. Old oil paintings lined the walls, there were two parlors, the kitchen was secreted away and all of the furnishings were from an earlier time, very serene and serious looking. Nampara had furniture just as old, but it seemed more lived in and inviting somehow.  
Voices could be heard beyond the hall. Ross and Dem relinquished their coats to servants as Elizabeth and Francis came to greet them. Verity watched with interest as all four of them tried to be friendly in a way that marked out the strain between them. Elizabeth thanked Dem for the cake, setting the tin to the side to be spirited away by the help. She took her hand, looked into Dem's face in an earnest, pleasant manner. "It is so good of you to come to us. May I take you to meet Aunt Agatha?" Dem let herself be led by the hand by the polite and gentle hostess who declared her a 'homeless busker' not seven months ago. Verity followed. With the ladies departed, Ross and Francis shook hands. As much as Ross suffered the annoyance of Elizabeth slipping his grasp, his happiness with Dem allowed him to set that aside. It was past. Francis had grown up along side him as Verity had done and that bond still had strength for all Ross had been angered. "Happy Christmas, Francis!" He meant it. "It's good to see you, Ross! Come, let's save your wife from Aunt Agatha's fortune telling!" Ross laughed at that. His elderly Aunt Agatha was somewhat of a mystic and consulted a pack of tarot cards regularly as well as having a raft of superstitions and old folk wisdom at her disposal. In the large parlor, Agatha abandoned her tarot cards and rum to pepper Dem with good natured if impudent questions. That Dem had gone to Hempel school was a mark in her favor for Agatha knew the name and it marked Dem as a lady in her eyes. "So, bud, got yourself bedded and wedded, did you?" Agatha cackled. "Aunt Agatha!" scolded Verity. " She d'know I don't mean nothing by it!" There by informing Dem of that fact. "Pretty little thing," she patted Dem's hand affectionately. "Nice and sweet at that age."She looked up at Ross who set the guitars by the fireplace. He stood up quickly as Agatha barked in an imposing voice, "Ross! You bin too long away, boy!" Ross looked contrite which Dem found interesting. Jud and Prudie could also compel him to behave in that stern tone. If they were sometimes like parents to Ross, Aunt Agatha seemed to be like a grandmother. Francis spoke up for Ross. "Well, Aunt, Ross is so often galavanting with his band. He was away in Europe for some months, weren't you, Ross?" Ross smiled a grateful smile at Francis. "That is so." Ross often felt at odds with others but, sometimes, even he felt the pull of belonging to others for all he often resisted it. Agatha looked from Francis to Ross, looked from Verity to Elizabeth and back to Dem. Looked them all in the eye. There wasn't much she missed. "I be ninety-one and seen six generations o' Poldarks. You young 'uns need to look out for each other. Me n' Charles won't be here to make you mind forever." Cowed like a room full of school children they all murmured "Yes, Aunt Agatha."  
At that Charles entered the room, strenuously leaning on a cane, which surprised Ross. "Ross, my boy! And your missus! Your servant, ma'am!" he teased with a twinkle in his eye that put Dem at ease. One could see the strand within the Poldarks that made the men imposing and difficult but possess a charm that drew one in, very clearly, in Charles. "Elizabeth! Verity! There's no drinks about! Don't let their throats go dry on Christmas Eve!" They settled by the fire. Charles teased Dem by insisting her favorite drink was Babycham, a pear cider, that allowed him to poke fun at both of them over Demelza's age and get away with it. Ross smiled the boyish smile she liked best and she suppressed a giggle. The Trenwith visit was not as scary as she had feared. They had a pleasant chat by the fire. Geoffery Charles was brought to the parlor by his nurse and greeted the gathered relatives by standing, wide eyed, with his finger in his mouth. They complimented him and wished him Merry Christmas before he was whisked away again. After an enjoyable chat with drinks and shelled nuts, Mrs. Tabb, the housekeeper, came to the parlor to say that dinner was served.  
Dem was seated between Elizabeth and Aunt Agatha. Ross was between Verity and Francis. Charles sat at the head of the table with a paper crown on his head, from a Christmas cracker and demanded that the others follow suit. Ross smiled. Christmas could smooth away the most stubborn problems. He'd felt dread earlier over coming to Trenwith and it had not been anywhere as difficult as he had feared. The night was pleasant all round. Dem didn't seem to be eating much but she looked relaxed and seemed to be enjoying herself. Elizabeth was an impeccable hostess, so what ever misgivings she had in June over them did not show. Dem excused herself from the table as the desserts were being laid. She could hear their happy conversation, faintly, as she hurried upstairs to a hall bathroom where she lost her Christmas meal. Dem went to the sink to rinse her mouth. With that, as unpleasant as it was, she felt much better. She took time to collect herself before she went back down.  
When she returned, Dem was surprised to find guests had arrived. Unannounced and willing to pop by to pay the compliments of the season were George Warleggan and his uncle, Cary, and young John Treneglos with his new wife Ruth, nee Teague. Dem looked to Ross who winked at her. He knew Ruth Teague had been a thorn in Dem's side at school. He let her know with a wink that he would look out for her. Demelza smiled. Time had passed and Ruth did not touch her life. If anything, Ruth seemed ill at ease. Dem was a glamorous rebel. She had been Ross Poldark's ward as well as the prettiest girl in school. Now she was Ross Poldark's wife and a guitarist too. At school, Ruth relished any opportunity to take that wretched brat down a peg. It had not made a difference. Dem was ascendant and Ruth knew it. Ruth looked annoyed rather than her usual smug look of superiority. Elizabeth and Francis, who had no knowledge of Ruth's relationship as Dem's school nemesis were being cordial to the Warleggans. They were, rapaciously, buying up small record labels and trying to consolidate them into a label that would rival EMI and Warner Group. They were often in the same social circles and George was Geoffery Charles' godfather. Ross remained aloof. He knew George at school and never though much of him. He was another moth drawn to Elizabeth's flame. All the boys had wanted her, so long ago...  
The seating had been reshuffled. Agatha had retired and John Treneglos was in her place. Ruth was some seats away by the older Warleggan. They carried on with dessert and Dem enjoyed it without fear of being sick again. John, agog at sitting next to Dem in real life-he'd seen her in the papers-kept up a steady stream of amusing talk that baffled Ruth and amused Ross. Dem blinked at him prettily and answered his questions and comments in a light and carefree manner. It could be seen as flirting. Ruth raised her voice. "So Dem, did you collect all the articles that were written about you this summer?" Dem laughed. "No! It was like an avalanche! I expect there were many we didn't even see, people dearly love a gossip!" John laughed with her, annoying Ruth more. "Ha! Too right!" he said in his upper class, toff, braying voice. "A Merry Christmas and damnation to all gossips!" There was laughter from all at the table and Ruth was obliged to look amused. Charles gave a theatrical belch that the group took pains to ignore. "Damn wind...Let's get back to the parlor. Elizabeth promised to play after dinner and Ross and Dem have their guitars with 'em!"

III. In My Life

They gathered in the large parlor. Dem sat with Verity and Ruth remained at her husband's side. Francis and Ross stood by the mantle as Charles settled himself in the best chair and Elizabeth sat at the harp. She played beautifully. She looked up from time to time and gave a charming look to the assembled guests as she plucked out a winsome version of 'The Holly And The Ivy' and then 'Good King Wenceslas' that whispered the Christmas spirit to the heart. Dem was impressed. There was more to Elizabeth than she had considered. She was very good. They applauded her and then Ross and Dem were persuaded to play. They sat facing each other with their cracker crowns still on. Ross' was purple and Dem's was blue. They played 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' in a sprightly, intricate style that was upbeat and irresistible fun. They traded lines in the middle of the song, almost teasing each other, as if they were playing a game of tag, both looking towards each other more often than they spared a glance at their fingering on their guitars. Ross' eyes met Dem's and they sparkled with a merriment the Trenwith Poldarks found surprising. Ross rarely looked as unabashedly happy as he did now. Verity was charmed, recognizing how happy love could make a person, and looked forward to seeing Andrew at New Years. Elizabeth watched, fascinated, with a curdle of jealousy in it. Francis was wistful. He could not pretend there was no love between himself and Elizabeth for all their troubles, but they hadn't shared a spark quite like the one between Ross and his young wife. John Treneglos was tapping his toe, excited to see these two in real life, you could see why the papers made such a fuss over them! Ruth snorted a quiet harumph of derision, you couldn't see why the papers made such a fuss over them, who could care about a dirty old man and his child slag? Cary Warleggan's eyebrows raised. He flashed a look of interest to George who shook his head sternly and mouthed 'EMI'. Cary scowled. Ross was signed to EMI and George could see Cary's eyes lit with the idea they could cajole Demelza to signing with Warleggan Group. A girl as pretty as that who could play guitar just as well as her talented husband was a licence to print money as far as Cary was concerned. It was just his luck EMI had their talons in them. George had it on good authority that Demelza had been in EMI Recording Studios, over the summer, working on something serious. Even if she could be talked round, Ross had always been an unbearably arrogant and possessive person, all through school. Ross, possibly, fell out of his mother that obnoxious. He would never allow his wife to be signed away from EMI and he would tell his uncle so when they were on their own afterwards. Charles looked on, content. He had no illusions. This was, most likely, the last Christmas with him at the helm but he was able to enjoy it for the kids seemed better settled. His brother had it hard, what with the loss of his younger son and then his wife. He'd let Ross down in some ways. Charles often felt guilty over Ross. Maybe he should have mentored him when Joshua went off the rails so hard. Ross didn't deserve to be a black sheep. Joshua's carrying on did Ross no favors. But Ross had made something of himself-how many of these long haired musicians actually get a label like EMI to pay them any mind?-and he had a wife to look after him now. Ross had landed on his feet and done it on his own terms, with his own wits. He was a proper Poldark, to be sure.  
They looked smitten and happy as they took their applause. Dem looked to Ruth as she retrieved the glass of port she'd left by her chair on the hearth. "Now Ruth must play something!" She said this knowing full well that Ruth couldn't play a note of anything. "Oh! Oh, no I couldn't!" said Ruth trying not to show her alarm. Dem smiled over her glass. "Oh? Not musical, Ruth? Did your governess not teach you?" Ross hid his smile behind his glass. Dem enjoyed that barb entirely too much. "Perhaps we should have a carol!" said Verity not sensing the exchange between Dem and Ruth was poisonous. Charles gave a roar of a laugh. "That's a grand idea! What about it, young Warleggan? What's your choice?" George, feeling festive and gratified that he was accepted in a society family such as the Trenwith Poldarks said, "I expect we should take our leave soon. Shouldn't 'Silent Night' finish us off in the spirit of the season?" Charles approved. "Well chosen, sir! Have we all got drinks in hand?' This was seen to be true. "A toast then," said Charles. "Happy Christmas and a banger of a 1969!"  
"Happy Christmas!"  
Elizabeth was asked to accompany them on her harp and the all sang 'Silent Night' in an unabashed, joyous way. Dem raised her glass to Elizabeth after she clinked glasses with Verity and Elizabeth, still playing, nodded with a sphinx like smile. Ross and Francis looked to each other and smiled. "Merry Christmas, cousin."said Francis as they clinked their glasses. "Merry Christmas." said Ross. The ice had thawed. It was a merry Christmas indeed.

Garrick was asleep in the parlor having had a good gnaw on the bone Dem left for him. Ross, very gently, took the purple tissue crown off his head and placed it on Garrick's head. This gave them a few minutes entertainment before it fell off on to the floor. They returned the guitars to their stands. Ross crouched down to plug the tree lights back on. "Do you want some tea?' asked Ross. Even Ross couldn't face more alcohol. "Yes, that would be lovely." said Dem as she took off her shoes and sat on the sofa, admiring their quite modest, but very charming, Christmas tree, set between the two older benches by the windows. Ross went to get the tea made. He returned with the pot, two cups and a bit more cake as well. They set the tray between them, drinking their tea and pinching off bits of cake to eat with their fingers. They enjoyed just sitting quiet in their own parlor having gotten through the party and actually had a nice time. Ross was pleased that Dem charmed his relatives and Dem was happy that Elizabeth had not been a trouble to them. Ross licked a bit of marzipan off his finger and Dem passed him a napkin. He wiped his fingers and mouth, moved the tray and sat next to Dem with his arm around her. They admired the tree. "That wasn't so bad."said Ross  
At length, they turned off the tree and went up to bed. As Ross undressed, he thought about Agatha's admonishment of them today. Charles wasn't looking well, for all his holiday bluster and Agatha was quite old. Francis and Ross would be the heads of the family and he wasn't sure either of them were ready for that. Maybe when he and Dem start having children... They snuggled under the covers. Ross yawned. "You disappeared after dinner..." Dem smiled. Now was as good a time as any. "I felt sick." Ross frowned. "Sick?" She lay her head under his chin and hugged him more. "Yes, but that's to be expected when you're pregnant..." Ross gasped. "What?!" She looked up into his face. "We're going to have a baby, Ross!" He sat up. Dem followed suit. He was going to be a father. He was going to be a father! They stared at each other and then started laughing. "Dem!" He couldn't think of anything else to say. She smiled at him, warmly. "Merry Christmas, Ross!" He took her face in his hands. He kissed her forehead, each cheek and her mouth, reverent and slowly, like some sort of ancient pagan ceremony. He rolled her onto the bed and kissed her neck. He raised himself on one elbow and smiled into her eyes.  
"Merry Christmas, my love."  
They stared at each other and with a loving and tender look, he bent down to kiss her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Holly And The Ivy, traditional
> 
> You're All I Need To Get By, Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell 1967
> 
> The Christmas Song ( Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...), Nat King Cole 1961
> 
> In My Life, The Beatles 1965


	4. Gimme Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea and sympathy  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the Resurgam tour and Mark Daniel's arrest for Keren's murder, after Julia's cot death, before the Ross gets framed by the Warleggans and stands trial.

Well, yes... Oh!" Dem looked up at Ross on the phone. He sounded startled. "That would be very nice... Do you need me to pick you... Oh, of course... Bartle need not leave, the Paynters would be happy to give him tea... Yes. We'll see you then. Goodbye, Aunt."

Ross declined Christmas at Trenwith, to each household's relief. Verity was having her Christmas with Andrew's family and that made Dem less inclined to reflexively try to contrive a visit in the spirit of family she suspected a wife should show. Verity was her luck at these affairs. The buffer between the previous love triangle of Elizabeth, Francis and Ross and a true friend to be near. With Verity away there was no incentive on Demelza's part to argue for going. The bereavement over little Julia as well as Charles made neither household enthusiastic over a holiday party. Charles was missed, having lived a full life. Julia's had barely begun. To break bread with the Nampara cousins, having lost their child, the scandal of a harrowing murder of the wife of one of the men who worked as part of the crew for her nephew's musical group and the virtual hermitude Ross maintained after that man was arrested in a full on police manhunt made the prospect of repeating the happy, pleasant visits they'd managed previously slim. Having given word of her nephew declining to visit Trenwith, Aunt Agatha made the increasingly rare decision to leave Trenwith and invite herself to Nampara three days before Christmas. This, she reasoned, was close enough to be able to wish her nephew and his wife compliments of the season and not so close to the date itself in their period of sorrow. No one should lose a child that young. The unpleasantness over the murderer who worked on tour with Ross' band being tittered about. Ross was wayward, no doubt, but he had a good heart. His wife was quite young too and must have shouldered quite a bit of gossip and over their marriage as well as being in grief. They had it hard. Gossip and sorrow. The young people should not be entirely without family at a time like this.

Dem came down to the kitchen and sat forlorn at the table. Prudie had a pretty array of tea cake, buns and biscuits set on plates. A rustic, country tea rather than a fussy, formal one. A bolstering sort of tea. Ross and Dem were that sad and Prudie wanted the tea table ample and hearty. Ross' Aunt Agatha was an old'un and would not turn her nose up at at such fare. Prudie wanted to feed up both her grufflers. They had been indifferent to food in their grief. Prudie scrutinized Demelza, looked her over top to toe as Dem sat with a dull expression, looking over the baked goods to some distant part of the room but not truly focusing on it. Dem had not combed her hair though she was dressed neatly in a flower sprinkled blue dress and had her shoes on. "You ain't tidied yer hair. Ee needs to comb yer hair, luv." said Prudie. Dem did not look up but nodded her head 'yes'. Prudie wiped her hands on a dish towel. Dem and Ross, both, had to be directed like grade school children these days. The pall over them was like a fog the Paynters had to wave a lantern to get through. "Ee needs to try, Dem." said Prudie, gently. "Miss Agatha ain't gonna fault ee for grievin', luv, but ee needs t'be mistress today..." Dem nodded. "Yes, Prudie." Prudie turned back to the stove. Dem might manage to make a go of things. Ross too, though he never took instruction well in a poor mood. Ross had sense enough to host his aunt in politeness but fighting his, justifiable, morose attitude at the moment would be difficult. Dem should not feign happiness but one of them had to host sensibly for the honor of the house. Prudie resisted sighing. It always came back to the woman, the woman of the house. Dem lost her daughter as did Ross but it was always the woman who had to gird herself for these social situations. Be fitty...

Approaching Nampara, Agatha considered Joshua's strange compulsion to disregard the entire county's opinions and carry on after any woman not nailed down, and some that were. Being married seemed to make him relish the challenge of seducing them more. Ross would be hard pressed to act sensible with all that nonsense going on. No mother to guide him or make him mind, running about London with the Chynoweth girl, (and she, no better than she ought to be; the Chynoweth's little crown princess, leaped to Francis, to be mistress of Trenwith, before you could blink your eye...) Ross gadding about in America getting up to all sorts. Playing loud music in the entertainment business... That Ross took in the girl who became his wife to greater scandal than his father did not surprise Agatha. The trees rushed past the windows. Anyone with a bit of sense would know Ross wouldn't defile a young girl. You couldn't count on sense in this gossipy place. 'He was helping a girl in need...' thought Agatha. Being a friend. Ross wanted to feel connected to people. His brother was gone. His parents were gone and, in truth, the Trenwith side did not step into the breach as they probably should have. Charles kept so a wide a berth from Joshua's antics, bringing Ross closer, during or afterwards, was not possible. Elizabeth marrying Francis made her nephew even less inclined to seek his family out. Ross made his own way. Agatha looked out the car window as Bartle came round to open the door for her. Ross had been happy when they came for Christmas, the last Christmas Charles was alive, the first Christmas for Ross and Dem's baby. Verity engaged to be married, Elizabeth and Francis doting on Geoffrey Charles, everything so positive and a contentment in the Poldark family. Ross was happy, walking into Trenwith with his little poppet of a daughter tucked in his coat, so determined to have the child stay warm he kept her close to him. Ross looked to have been given what he had wanted. To be his own sort of Poldark and restore a family to Nampara. He doted on the baby, doted on his little rosebud of a wife... So sad...

Bartle walked next to the old lady in a nervous, watchful step. He did not want to crowd her, she refused the assistance of his arm to approach the house. He was nervous she might trip and fall. She disregarded his fussing and walked with her cane to the front door, thank you very much. The young never gave a damn if you sat in your chair but got all hysterical once you walked where you needed to go. Ross opened the door, smiled an authentic smile of greeting for his aunt that did not reach his eyes. Could not reach his eyes. Young Ross was deeply sad. He wore black jeans and the collar of a white shirt showing from a grey jumper that looked thick and warm. His hair was still overlong, in the way some of the young folk wore it these days. Tidy though... "Hello, Aunt Agatha. Welcome to Nampara." said Ross. He offered his arm and she deigned to allow it. A sympathy for him rather than needing help with her footing. "Thank you, nephew." Ross exchanged a nod of recognition with Bartle, long time servant at Trenwith and he entered at a discreet distance tilting his chin to see Prudie's approach. "Afternoon, ma'am." smiled the driver. "Afternoon, Bartle. Ee can come through, we got a good tea cake on..." Bartle took off his cap. "Much obliged." And the both paused to watch Ross and his aunt turn to enter the parlor before going to the kitchen. Dem and Prudie lay the table with the dishes and refreshments from the first. They were not fragile or in a position to spoil. The tea would be brewed when they had enough of a proper visit to come to the table. Dem smiled, prettily. "Hello, Aunt Agatha." A Cheshire Cat smile appeared across Agatha's face. Ross' little bud had a steel spine. She conducted herself as lady of the house inspite of her grief. Not drooping about like a lent lily, even though the poor girl was devastated. 'Ross chose well,' thought Agatha, nodding her greeting before she spoke. 'Many an older girl would be hard pressed to carry on, let alone as young as this one. A fighter...' "There's my little bud. Thank you for having me, Dem." She gestured to the evergreen wreath between the windows where the old benches sat. Antiques that were old when Agatha was a girl. It had a red satin bow and scented the room with Yuletide spirit. "Your wreath is handsome in here. Makes it festive..." Dem nodded. "Thank you." They sat. Agatha surmised the couple couldn't face a proper tree this year. Having a wreath rather than nothing at all for Christmas was another proof that they were trying to meet themselves halfway. Ross lead her to the sofa and she sat. Agatha put her cane to the side. "You two will sup by yourselves at Christmas?" Ross' eyes widened a little. She checked up on them out of the starting gate. He shook his head 'no'. "We will dine with the Paynters on Christmas Day..." He sat. Agatha pressed her lips in a small smile. The longtime servants here were keeping an eye on their employers. "I'm glad of it," she patted the cushion next to her, bade Dem to sit. Dem sat next to Agatha and the older woman noted the dark circles under her eyes. She patted Dem's hand as it lay near on the cushion and nodded to Ross as she said, "I'm glad. I will feel better knowing you will make a day of it..." With that Agatha steered away from Ross and Dem's sad times. A talent honed by many decades of being doyenne of the Poldarks and adept at tea table talk. She spoke of Verity, so content in her married life. Mentioned what few callers visited Trenwith recently in affable chat. Stories from the newspaper by way of her other nephew now that Francis routinely tut tutted over world events to her in his father's absence. Ross and Dem listened with interest. The tenor of Aunt Agatha's talk so different to that of other, modern people. Ross felt a calm come over him. A need to play host, yes, but also a calm in listening to his aunt's tales. A shadow of being younger, listening to older relatives talking and waiting for cakes and tea. A reprieve from the sadness in such a quiet way. Ross and Dem 'yesed, and 'noed'. Nodded and interjected comment as Agatha visited. Dem found her role as hostess easy to perform. 'I should hope to be as sharp as Ross' aunt when I grow old...' thought Dem. Agatha remained watchful. Ross and Dem looked fatigued but were dealing with things admirably. Tea. "I suppose I could do with a cup of tea. I know your housekeeper pipped Mrs. Tabb in the Spring Fête for Victoria Sponge. Mrs. Tabb had a black mood when Mr.Tabb dared to admit he had tried some of Mrs. Paynter's cake and appreciated its taste." Ross and Dem laughed. It was nice to laugh. Spontaneous and nice. Ross stood. "One thing I do well is tea," Agatha was pleased to see a hint of a spark had reached her nephew's eyes. "Won't be a moment..."

Ross went to the kitchen, lightened by Aunt Agatha's comment over Prudie's Spring Fête triumph. Grateful for small things. It was easy to hide from people. Ross preferred to hide from people, from gawpers whispering over Mark Daniel strangling his wife, from sympathy. Sympathy can break ones heart worse if you weren't able to cope with the loss from the first. Aunt Agatha would not let Ross hide. Aunt Agatha made a point of satisfying herself by appraising them herself and bringing them a distraction Ross wouldn't have sought but made a difference to them. Perhaps that was what family is for... He turned into the kitchen to see Jud behind his newspaper and Bartle sitting content with a mug of tea. Prudie did not turn from what she was chopping. She sensed Ross though for she said, "Ee ready for tea then?" Ross nodded another hello to Bartle. "Yes, Prudie. I'll brew it." Prudie continued chopping carrots. She knew Ross had the matter in hand. Ross was her second in command where tea brewing was concerned, from time back. Jud stayed quiet. Bartle stayed quiet. Prudie continued her work. It was a subtle talent of servants to know when to converse and know when to stay silent. Ross made the tea, grateful to focus on the ritual of it. As it steeped he simply leaned against the counter, arms folded, eyes lowered in quiet thought, and waited.

They had tea. Ross poured. Agatha noted that as a good thing. Custom indicated Dem, as hostess, should pour but Ross maintained the right from habit. He performed the task because he was used to it. He performed the task without needing a nudge. Grief had not gotten in the way of it. Ross had it hard. He doted on the child, as any father would, but little Julia had been the first Nampara Poldark in a long time and her death had a second layer of lost companionship for him that Agatha knew he must feel deeply. She continued her gentle talk and they had a fine tea in the old style. No over dainty, fancy flourishes. Just good tea cake, flecked with mixed peel and raisins, rounds of shortbread, buttery tasting and of a sturdy thickness. A sugared ginger biscuit with a pleasant chewiness to its texture. Yeasted currant buns rather than scones, jam and cream at the ready like splits. Agatha had a happiness knowing that the Paynters were one constant and positive source of care for her nephew and his wife. Someone was looking after the youngsters and being some sort of authority over making sure they didn't fall apart altogether. Ross had a good heart but her nephew was not the most responsible person sometimes. Grief makes a body make poor choices sometimes... Hopefully they could get past this sadness to better days ahead. Ross smiled, wanly, but in true gratitude. "Thank you for your visit, Aunt. We were in need of it, I think..." He looked to Dem and she nodded agreement. They would not have sought company themselves but they did feel better for Agatha's diversion. "You are welcome. I don't go out so often anymore... It's good to visit. It's good to stay close, boy. The Poldarks are a peculiar family, but we are family." she smiled a sphinx like smile. The understatement was not lost on them.

Agatha took her leave. Bartle returned and she held the handle of her cane as first Dem and then Ross hugged her, careful of her frail form. She looked between them. "Compliments of the Season, children. Be gentle with yourselves." Ross and Dem let their lips part in a sort of surprise, close back up. Of all the condolences and wishes on they had received in their loss of Julia, Agatha's admonishment to 'Be gentle with themselves' felt very giving. Not wishing her feelings upon them, she told them give themselves the gift of space and time. They nodded. Agatha returned to Trenwith. The trees rolled past to car windows. Agatha sighed. The Nampara Poldarks were bowed but not broken, yet. Agatha had consulted her tarot and kept mum. They were within an inauspicious web, harder times yet to come. They had devoted servants to look after them and love. They had love, at the last. Pray God that's enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gimme Shelter, The Rolling Stones 1969
> 
> Jumper: sweater
> 
> I know your housekeeper pipped Mrs. Tabb in the Spring Fête for Victoria Sponge: won a cake contest
> 
> Victoria sponge: a vanilla layer cake sandwiched with butter cream and jam or whipped cream and jam, dusted on top with icing/10X confectioner's sugar.


	5. All Tomorrow's Parties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Games Without Frontiers  
> Boxing Day, 1975

Little cartoon rectangles, with hands and feet, poked giant flowers with sticks, popping them like balloons, poked each other with sticks and popped in and out of a cartoon landscape of bright colors and a large flower at the center that might have been the sun. They reappeared, walking in place with jolly smiles and holding big cards with the words changing each time they flipped it. "Jeux Sans Frontières!" said Papa, with a heroic tone of voice. "What that?" asked Jeremy. They returned to the parlor and Papa lifted Jeremy up to sit on his lap on the sofa. "It is French for 'Games Without Frontiers', but we know it as," Mama crowed with a giggle from the parlor door. "It's A Knockout!" And Jeremy turned to smile at Mama who returned it with a happiness on her face that made his heart glad. Mama was happy. She came in to sit next to them and Jeremy squirmed off of Papa's lap to sit between them. He grinned as Mama placed a kiss on his forehead and put his head back, jutting his chin up, eyes upside down towards Papa to demand another one. Jeremy did not have to ask. Papa darted his face to meet him and kissed his forehead, smack bang in the middle, where Mama had and the grin they shared made Jeremy laugh with glee. From this vantage point he could see his parents smile at each other and that made him happiest of all. There had been a great deal of time, over the months, that Jeremy had Mama hold him in bed at night. He enjoyed that. Bedtime in London had two parts when he first went to bed and then when Mama went to bed. Occasionally he could wake a little when Mama came to bed later in the night and feel her lay beside him. Having returned to Nam Par Par, he slept alone but the days were so chock full of hugs he did not feel he missed out being put to bed by himself again. Jeremy was struck by how wonderful it was to be held by Papa. The stubble on his face would scritch against his forehead or cheeks and he liked that feeling. Sometimes the little hairs were gone and Papa's face lay smooth against his. Jeremy liked that too. He liked being near Papa. He liked sitting between them and feeling having his parents surround him with happiness and lay their heads along the top of his head as they laughed leaning near, Mama's head on Papa's shoulder or a sudden drape of their hair flopping over Jeremy as they cracked up with laughter hugging him in between. Men in giant snowman costumes were trying to skate in a relay race and the fat oversized costumes made them clumsy and slow but still able to try their best to win. Papa laughed until his eyes started leaking. This was instructive for Jeremy. He had been perturbed over Mama's eyes leaking all the time in London. They leaked less in Nam Par Par but seeing wet in Mama's eyes made him nervous. It was good to see that eyes could leak from being silly too. Papa thought the lumbering snowmen were hysterical and Jeremy felt a true happiness in being clutched tightly by Papa with Mama laughing alongside and the funny snowmen being called like a proper race by the voice on the screen. He had is life returned to him. Jeremy was living, of course, but love between two places was wearing. Love from Mama when one wasn't sure if they would go home to Papa, love from Papa that he could hear through the phone, Jeremy not sure what he could do to make amends for a Papa sending them away was a hard situation that Jeremy could not work out for himself. Boo and Jinny were jolly friends, and Jeremy was not without attention but even when they had fun Jeremy longed for Nam Par Par and life with Papa once more. Sometimes Papa was distant. Sometimes Papa was not always attentive. But he was here and being together felt nice even when Papa had grown up things hold his attention. Jeremy asked Father Christmas to help solve the mystery of Jeremy's crime. To help heal whatever he had done to be sent away. Father Christmas had listened it seemed. Boo said Father Christmas was "an ace" at making wishes come true at Christmas and assured Jeremy that he was the sort good boy Father Christmas would listen to in seriousness as he was a gent who worked to make good children's wishes come true as a sort of vocation, a hobby he took seriously each Christmas. Jeremy was not quite sure if he _was_ good enough if he was wicked enough to be sent away by Papa, but Boo was very certain that Christmas wishes had stronger magic than ordinary ones and Jeremy took this advice. Boo thought Jeremy was wanting a special toy or proper bought present. Jeremy had a tenuous grasp at explaining himself clearly in speech to grown ups. What he thought and what he could manage to say for himself didn't quite join up sometimes. Boo did not see the true extent of Jeremy's query, not understanding the seriousness of what Jeremy was wanting, but Boo answered in a serious manner that satisfied him as a possible remedy. Jeremy's wish was more complex but he did ask. He lay across Mama's lap as one might fall back on a bed, knowing it was soft and would catch you. Jeremy liked bouncing on his bed. The old bed with slats all round wasn't very bouncy. Jeremy liked proper beds that were bouncy. He lay back and smiled up at Mama who smiled down at him with merry laughter and he gave thanks to Father Christmas. Music had not returned but they were home in Nam Par Par and Papa smiled into his eyes, smiled into Mama's eyes and Jeremy could see that he had as much happiness in their return as they did. If music did not come back, Jeremy would not fault Father Christmas. He did still wish for it though. Mama didn't even play piano in London and there were no guitars. This struck Jeremy as an arch punishment. Not only were they sent away but Mama couldn't play music and its absence, the silence at night as he was falling asleep was disorienting and sad. Later in the night, Mama would come to bed and Jeremy felt as if they had been banished even as he liked Mama's arms around him. At night it was too quiet in London. In the morning Mam..., Mama seemed to stare past his eyes and watch his insides, trying to find the problem in him that made Papa send them away with no music. Those bad times could be set aside now. Papa was laughing. Mama was laughing. Great Britain came in second for the snowman race and made a good showing. Father Christmas brought them home for Christmas in truth. If music was still forfeit, perhaps that was something Father Christmas couldn't manage but this was more than enough proof that Christmas magic had done him a good turn.

It was a happy day. It was like having Christmas twice. They drew pictures on Jeremy's new pad of paper, all sat on the floor by the tree drawing. They had much the same dinner and ate mince pies since they had finished all the chocolates. Papa read Rumpelstiltskin before he went to bed and made different voices for all the characters. Papa read stories on Sundays over the phone but having Papa read them sitting on his bed and near. Near enough to hear Papa take a breath by his ear, turn the pages quite close together laugh and discuss the story was wonderful. Jeremy hugged his parents goodnight and Papa held him so close Jeremy could believe he was home even if there still wasn't music.

Ross and Dem went downstairs. They put Jeremy to bed and relished how happy he was. That they had achieved a sense of family once more and their son seemed so happy for it. Ross had been particularly moved. He had been selfish in a way that Ross could acknowledge was a shadow within him. A radical and unstable part of his DNA that compelled him to do as he pleased, did as he saw fit. He had gone to Liza in an arch sense of insult, fiercely resentful, a claiming of a right his saw as his, he had claim to Elizabeth in an integral duality. They wanted what they wanted. She knew. He knew. His vows and her pledge had no bearing on what lay between them. She chose Francis. She chose George. Demelza grew from a young girl into a woman, grew straight into his arms. Ross would not have had it otherwise. But if Dem, Francis and George had no sovereignty over Ross' desire to have Liza to himself shouldn't Jeremy's claim stopped him? At the last no sense of family barred his infidelity. He whined and wept and craved for family throughout his life but when the chips were down, after Dem showed him nothing but support in their bereavement and the trial, when they made a second child to love and care for, when he was the one to _be family_ for his wife's sake, his son's sake, he faltered. In this Ross had no one to blame but himself. Amends were as much for him as for his wife and son. If they could forgive him Ross would feel redeemed. He hugged his son goodnight with the boy's love so pure, shinning from him as he held his Papa, Ross vowed to be equal to it. He would parent his son. He would parent their children should more arrive. He dreamt of a tribe of Nampara Poldarks, an army of little Nampara Poldarks and saw himself as their patriarch. He saw himself as a static cipher though. A contented spectator with Dem at his side. He did not consider his part to play in rearing his children. That even those he'd dreamed of yet born were little props in the daydreams in his head. It was a reciprocation he'd ignored perhaps for Joshua had his blindsides and self centeredness as well. If "papa" was constantly at a remove, able to do as he sees fit, is that not what all "papas" do? Ross, setting aside Liza's gode, setting aside the fact that he may well have engulfed even her in his anger by taking her against her will. (though perhaps not _so_ against her will as the night continued...) Ross had brought his greediness and Joshua's poor examples of both womanizing and impulse control into a sharp dagger that rent his marriage in two. Dem left her father as a child of twelve, why should it be a surprise that she would walk out on him carrying on with Liza and using drugs and alcohol in a coward's solution to hide from his guilt over everything. Dem was ten years younger but hers was a more mature wisdom. Would Jeremy seek to hug a nodded out shell, a wreck of a man in the house, shooting up and drinking? The question was moot. Dem saved Ross from himself in that regard. She removed herself and their son from the gruesome spectacle the Paynter's had to deal with. Dem was strong. Her family life was worse than Ross' in every measure but she was more clear eyed in her view of the ties that bind. She left to have a chance at healing the breach, not leave altogether. He would not waste a second chance. Dem gave him another chance. Jeremy was young enough that Dem's separation was a gift. He would make things up to Jeremy. Dem was broken hearted enough Ross worried he would never truly absolve himself of his crimes. He would try though. He would try.

The dishes still needed attention but they went back to the parlor. The fragility of their reconciliation ebbed and flowed throughout the day. The love remained, the relief was strong and encouraging but the hard feelings and sorrow were too raw and serious to feign some sort of 'happily ever after'. There was still work to be done to right the wrongs and regain the balance between them. Ross had not played guitar while Dem and Jeremy were away. He was too busy righting himself in the Paynter's insistence that he work to a strict schedule each day, physical work that tired him at the end of each day as much as hone himself back into a person they could recognize. He did so now. Dem lay on the sofa and listened to Ross play his black Gibson. A private concert that most of the young girls who made 'Thy Sweetness' storm uncontested to the top of the charts might have wished to have for themselves. That the romantic man on Top Of The Pops would sing to them. Ross played for his wife alone. His fine, his loyal, his sweet Demelza. The mother of his children. The keeper of the flame of their marriage when he had lost sight of it. His woman. Ross played to his woman and vowed to win back her broken heart as her man.

In the dark, through the floorboards, in crowing triumph and a happy trill of laughter. Jeremy lay on his back listening to the sound of a guitar sounding through the house. Boo had offered sound advice. Placing the matter as a Christmas wish had worked. Father Christmas was a gent of the first order. A fellow who gave good boys and girls their Christmas wish come true. At the last, each part of Jeremy Poldark's wish had been granted. He and Mama had returned to Nam Par Par but the shadow of all that had separated them was still there. As things improved, Jeremy could sense that his responsibility in the rupture of the household might yet be forgiven. Papa smiled more, looked and listened and hugged him more. Papa had lost the shell of distraction between them. Sometimes, before they were sent away, Papa seemed actively afraid to be so open and giving to Jeremy, as if his taint might touch Papa and make him bad too. Did it? Is that why they were sent away? If that was the case the shadow had lifted. Father Christmas made everything alright and even gave Jeremy extra presents under the tree! As stately, elegant guitar whispered through the floorboards Jeremy laughed into the dark and rolled back over to sleep the sleep of the just.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Tomorrow's Parties, The Velvet Underground, 1967
> 
> It's A Knockout, It's A Christmas Knockout: Originally conceived in France as Jeux Sans Frontières; from a previous show, Intervilles, that had villages competing against each other, It's A Knockout was the British version. Villages and towns compete in quasi sport events featuring silly props and costumes. The broadcast for Christmas was an international competition through cooperation between various countries broadcast systems. Most Christmas specials began with a montage of filmed landscapes of mountains and snow and winter sport, then the host in a plaid jacket announcing that they were in Italy or Switzerland or somewhere but I have put the regular, animated, multilingual opening as the start to the Poldarks viewing.
> 
> Men in giant snowman costumes: It's A Knockout often used ungainly costumes to make races absurd and difficult with the participants made to balance in costumes much taller than they were and made to wear outsized, cartoonish feet. Winter competitions upped the ante by having them race on ice skates. Chefs or waiters carrying platters of food, bulbous "Konks" oval shaped monsters with feet so big the participants often fell over like turtles, having to roll around on the ground to get back up and drunk sailors trying for the fastest time to stumble forward to reach a hammock to lie in and sleep it off were some of the funniest races. 
> 
> that made Papa send them away with no music: Jeremy was looked after by Jinny when Red and Blue jammed in the rehearsal room. Demelza did start playing guitar again in London but Jeremy was not in a position to know this.
> 
> Boo/Mam/Nam Par Par: Each of the Poldark children, at their youngest ages, call their mother's friend, Malcolm McNeil, Blue following Dem addressing him as such but mispronounced as "Boo" until they grow a little more and get the hang of it. During Dem and Ross' period of separation Jeremy starts code switching in the London household believing Dem to be "Mam" in London when Malcolm is Garrick's dog walker and shadow nanny when Jinny has a day off on Saturdays, and "Mama" at Nampara. When Jeremy would speak of life in the London flat he referred to Dem as "Mam" in his speech as Blue so often used the term to refer to her when he looked after him ('Ere comes your Mam, Let's see what your Mam's got for tea, eh?!, We'll all 'ave chips wi' Jinny an' your Mam!, etc.). Ross stomps that out pretty quickly upon realizing this once they are reunited in Nampara. The other Poldark children learn to accept "Mam" as a quirk of Uncle Blue's Scottish speech rather than a title they should use themselves. Jeremy's infant take on the name of their house, Nampara, is "Nam Par Par." Each child has a different mispronounced Nampara form as they learn and grow.


	6. Candy And A Currant Bun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hungry like the wolf  
> Rated M for a morning's interlude

Ross and Dem woke slowly. Ross' bed lay untouched. They shared Dem's bed and came awake by degrees, snug under a quilt sewn with brightly colored borders of birds and flowers so finely stitched they might fly away or give scented perfumes. Ross looked to Dem, the pretty decorations tucked beneath her chin as if she had fallen asleep in the woods. He often daydreamed of coming upon Dem, like Sleeping Beauty, in the woods. Their betrothal brought a second layer of fantasy to the oft thought fancy and he turned his hips a little more to face her. She murmured and began to wake. Ross lay a gentle hand on her hair. He kissed her forehead. This nursery room, so cozy, the beds intricately carved with flowers and vines holding mattresses, so soft, dressed in fanciful sheets. Had he found his Sleeping Beauty? At rest in an enchanted cottage, hidden in the wild wood and his for the taking? She smiled, eyes still closed. "Good morning, Ross," He drew his face closer to hers. "Careful in the wood young maid," he whispered, "for the wolf is in pursuit..." Dem opened her eyes in a wonderfully languid, appraising glance. She answered him, put her hand to Ross' hair and whispered, "Careful in the woods young sir, for the she wolf lies in wait..." A soft kiss. A knowing one. The sort of kiss one can melt into and promises a lover's attention. Ross and Demelza took their bundling promise seriously. Though they both yearned to pass the casual guards of companionship and sample a more adult form of pleasure, they remained true to Jud and Prudie, even in Lapland, for they were both loyal to their guardians, grateful to be allowed their Friday nights, determined to be honest. Here in Father Christmas' nursery, every night became Friday and the mornings held promises of pleasure too. Even so, they remained within bundling bounds. There was enjoyment and release to be had in the intimacies they were permitted. Dem had no hesitations. She gently stroked Ross' back, grazed his thigh in a teasing salvo that made him gasp from the anticipation of knowing her intention. She chuckled a little, his eagerness for her to continue. "What does the wolf desire...?" she asked between kisses. Ross began to breathe as if he had run a race, he began to pant at the thought as he spoke, his body primed to respond to her play. "Oh, Dem... I want you to touch me, Dem!" whispered Ross. She smiled into his eyes and Ross found himself lost in them. Lost in a sparkling green/blue place, absent of space or time or reality. He stared forward when he could open his eyes, the pleasure of her touch made him close his eyes, to focus on the sensation and smell her skin. To moan from her teasing and gasp at her boldness. He let a keening noise escape from his throat as he lunged to meet her mouth once more and wrapped his leg around her, pulling her closer but not daring to close the space between them and relinquish his pleasure as she brought him to near lunacy from her touch. She kissed his neck. He lay on his back for he knew her intent. "Oh god..." said Ross in a longing sigh. She laughed. They enjoyed the feeling of power pleasuring the other brought. A fair exchange. Ross gave Dem as good as he got in these concerns. Dem kissed lower, letting him anticipate her attentions, neck, his chest dipping down to bite his nipples and relish his sounds of pleasure in it, a teasing trail of her pointed tongue at his ribcage. His navel. A pause. "Yes?" teased Dem. She lay her cheek over his navel and smiled into his eyes. Ross watched her rise, could see her breasts hanging like small pendulums, teats flushed pink at their tips and begging to be tasted, see himself, viewed between them, his milk teeth hung over them strung on a ribbon at her neck and beneath her teasing smile, straining to feel her mouth upon him. "Yes," moaned Ross.They both knew she would not deny him at the last but the wait drove him to distraction."Yes, oh yes! Please, Dem! Oh please... Ah!" She slid further down. A shuddering gasp at contact. Ross writhed and murmured from pleasure and cried out as she bestowed his final release. Ross recovered himself by degrees and Dem lay near in quiet satisfaction. The she wolf was the victor this morning. The wolf poised to honor the lady in his acknowledgment of her dominance. She returned to the head of the bed, breasts grazing his hip, tantalizingly near as she contined up and lay at his side. Ross sighed with a sidelong look, a delirium pierced with mischief. Turn about was fair play. "The she wolf, indeed, lay in wait. What does the victor demand?" asked Ross breathlessly. Dem simply smiled, lay on her back with her hand in elegant rest on the pillow beneath her head, the necklace of teeth askew along her neck, legs parted in a slow shift that spread in time to Ross' widening, sly smile. Dem's other hand gentle upon Ross' hair. He rose on one elbow and kissed her. A rising sense of possession, she tasted of him. He tasted himself on her tongue, a gode that sharpened Ross' need of her, quickened his obedience to her. He would pleasure her and have his own pleasure renewed in her joy, his beauty in her enchanted forest, his to taste. Her fingers grasped his hair. The hunger unleashed. The obedience of the wolf, falling upon her breasts in a greedy desperation to taste her nipples like sweets. Her sighs were signals, the wolf needed no spoken direction. He was aware of the she wolf's commands. His hair in her grasp, her sighs, his hair released as he futher strove to please her. To the victor goes the spoils.

They lay in each others arms. The secrets between the sleeping world and the waking one faded and fell into place. Ross and Dem changed guises. Awakened as lovers in a desperate release of their lusts, they rose from Dem's bed and entered the day as young adventurers once more. Along with their attire for the day, the elves left aprons for them. White aprons with cardinal in flight holding a holly sprig in its beak on the bib. Ross and Dem dressed, turning this way and that, assisting the other in tying their aprons at their backs with more than a little excitement. Today the elves would teach them how to make candy, not just watch, and because Father Christmas managed different time periods at once some treats were not from their own century. The aprons were similar to the ones the elves wore, fit just right for two young humans and light colored caps to keep their hair covered. "You look like the baker!" smiled Dem. "I feel like one, a magical one!" laughed Ross. "Mrs. Claus said we will use magic too!" said Ross. Dem grinned from the happiness of being allowed to make magical candy. They left the nursery dressed as candy workers. The elves going to and fro in their different tasks, holding armfuls of supplies or tidying the rooms as clean as a bright new penny, singing in their work with their funny little voices, all nodded approval at the children's attire. Ross and Demelza smiled with pride for the elves were all very encouraging and doting. They smiled fondly upon them. Mrs. Claus maintained a collusion within the Christmas household, kept a secret that even their other honored guest, the reindeer who brought them to Father Christmas by following the North Star, agreed to uphold. Dem, having grown to the age of sixteen without knowledge of her fairy lineage and Ross, having been given limited fey gifts when they swore their oath to become blood brothers, would not be told of their fey blood. They would remain as they were, believing themselves to be entirely human. Having already experienced many supernatural and magical wonders in Ross' abduction by the Snow Queen and Demelza's pursuit and recovery of her fiance. Having reasoned these magical things for themselves as a result of the Snow Queen's malfeasance and Meggy Dawes' cherries, the magic of the Witch of the New Forest and the magical realm of the Otherworld, the Christmas household did not dissuade them. They had gone through so much in Ross being revived from his death and Dem traveling though all manner of peril, it was seen as a good thing to let them simply reunite and convalesce. The elves were happy for Ross and Dem and charmed to know that the children would be wielding their own magic in the Christmas Kitchens without knowing it to be their power. Young humans, part fairy folk, wide eyed and happy in their ongoing enjoyment of Father Christmas' magical household, very sweet.

Greeted by Mrs. Claus and given a breakfast of eggs and toast Ross and Demelza had to be counseled to slow down, not gobble up their food in their excited haste to begin a days candy making. "You need not rush," she said sweetly. "All things in due time, children. Tell me of Christmas in your world..." In a subtle halt of Ross and Dem's rush to finish breakfast, Mrs. Claus engineered a more leisurely pace by having them recount their Christmas memories with Jud and Prudie. She looked upon them fondly as they spoke of happy Christmases and even happy remembrance of playing in snow. Memories not dashed or poisoned by the Snow Queen's evil kidnapping of Ross. They talked and laughed and had true happiness in these recollections. They ate in the calm, satisfied manner of savoring the flavor of the food between anecdotes, not speeding to finish without really tasting it. The buttery softness of the scrambled eggs and fragrant crunch of the toast giving way to a soft, hot interior, orange juice in a vivid colored, sweet nectar so unlike squeezed orange juice in their own time, delicious! Mrs. Claus' warm look of interest, the cozy dining room lit with lamps and walls of golden paneled wood was snug and cheerful and the thick, crimson velvet curtains at the windows showed the scouring snow out of doors, blowing snow frigid and swirling. The weather outside was frightful but Ross and Dem were safe and warm and about to make magical candy. Breakfast finished at a decorous pace and the children well fed and happy to tell her of childhood joys. Mrs. Claus smiled over them in their ability to keep the joys of childhood near. To still value them even as they grew in truth, no longer strictly children. Ross and Dem, seventeen and sixteen, betrothed and deeply in love, had reunited as dear friends bound by a blood oath, and as innocent lovers. Good and honorable to their bundling promise and cherishing their freedom to indulge more often than their guardians allowed without breaking their promise to maintain the last edge of chasity, to remain virgin. Mrs. Claus and the household elves made no comment of this save the sly acknowledgment that only one bed required fresh sheets each morning. Mrs. Claus gave thanks that fate allowed Ross, a child starcrossed in nearly all things in his young life, the reprive of being looked after by two affectionate and good hearted guardians in a quiet village by a thriving apple orchard he knew to be his and loved. Loved his apples, loved his home and the village and loved his family. She gave thanks that Ross was deeply loved by his family. To right the wrong the stars visited upon him and restore him to a happy life under Christmas Spirit's protection with his loving family was no more than this good hearted boy deserved. She looked between them with a gentle gesture of her hand, 'rise my dears', she as good as said with a soft movement. Mrs. Claus stood to lead them the the kitchens and Ross and Dem walked at either side, nodding hello to elves they passed and grinning with the splendid happiness of being guests of Father Christmas.

They entered the Christmas Kitchens. A complex of several large kitchens in which elves made candies and baked sweets. Huge copper kettles that shone in the light, the strong, wonderful light that was brighter than the lamps and candles Ross and Dem knew and added warmth, not in temperature, but in an inviting glow. Crowds of elves crowing hello in their little voices greeted Ross, Dem and Mrs. Claus. They pulled at Ross and Dem's fingers, leading them through the large areas where all manner of candies were made and the perpetual puffs of gold fairy dust twinkled at the joints and corners of jolly looking machines in a chattering busyness, the busy task of confecting Christmas all over the world. If Ross and Dem woke as hungered wolves it was not discernable now. They were happy, smiling, apple cheeked youngsters now, chatting happily among the friendly elves and coming to stand at a waist high table, shimmery white and scrupulously clean. Ross and Dem laughed to watch finger bowls, dishes of water with two slender legs underneath, run across the tabletop to meet them and curtsy before a rose bud floating in the center of the water burst into bloom. "Oh!" Ross and Dem sighed with delight and washed their hands, dried them on towels that appeared in the air as the finger bowls ran back away and down a staircase quite the right size for them at the far side of the table. The towels simply vanished. A last flourish of fairy dust as Mrs. Claus nodded her thanks and began the lesson with the assistance of an elf running the machinery and the rest looking on in rapt attention. Watching the humans wield fairy magic in the Kitchen was talked of at bedtime and had all the elves in a lather of happiness. Such magical things happen when you live with Father Christmas! They stood about and sat on shelves. They crowded over banister rails and giggled at such a fevered pitch Mrs. Claus sought quiet by clapping her hands twice. The tinkling giggles stopping so abruptly made Ross and Dem laugh in surprise. This made the elves laugh again and Mrs. Claus had try two more, good natured attempts to get them to settle down. Trying to quiet them threatened to make her laugh too but she persevered in her role as elegant chatelaine. She did not fault them. Making candy canes, a sweet the children were not familiar with, made her amused too. "All settle now, we must begin. Now..." At this fairy dust fell in a sparkled drift from the ceiling and suddenly Father Christmas and Zhara, the librarian and keeper of the archives arrived. Ross and Dem grinned from ear to ear. "Oh! My dear!" here Mrs. Claus angled her cheek near for a kiss as all the elves bowed and curtsied in honor of the Lord of Christmas. Ross and Dem did as well which earned them a "Ho, ho, ho!" From Father Christmas, an indulgent smile from Zhara who had come to enjoy watching the children playing hide and seek in the archives and a redux of giggles from the elves. All assembled, (for who would miss this?), Mrs. Claus turned to the children and the elves hung on her every word in the candy making lesson. "Now Ross, Dem," They nodded eagerly in their aprons and caps. "Today is a diverting pastime," she began. "Candy canes taste of peppermint with bright, festive stripes and no seeds or grains to hold their shape," The children, knowing only of comfits that were centered around things like aniseseed or bits of nuts or fruit to hold its shape, were intrigued. "They are made of sugar alone?" asked Dem struck with wonder. "And colored with stripes?" asked Ross, mouth already watering to taste one. They all looked on, charmed. A new idea for them, a new taste to try and they would shape them in the correct manner too! "Yes, my dears. Blinkers will start the machine and you shall see them pulled and cut. Then you will shape them," "With magic?!" said Ross and Dem at the same time. They laughed and looked to each other in their excitement to do proper magic. "Ho, ho, ho!" The elves and Father Christmas, watched their guests, so anxious to perform magic they all utilized day in and day out in the workshop, considered commonplace, thinking them cute as a button. Giggles broke out once more and Mrs. Claus smiled, not attempting to quiet them. "Yes, children, you will." She turned her glance to the elf by the machine. "Blinkers," said Mrs. Claus. "Peppermint sticks, please." He bowed. "Yes, Ma'am. Ross! Dem!" said the elf in a squeaky voice and wearing an apron and cap just like theirs. They looked on eagerly. "Watch the top and you will see the tablet become many many peppermint sticks!" They nodded and the machine came on with a shimmy and a shudder and being Father Christmas' Christmas Kitchen it was only natural that the elves would break into song:

    

    Love came down at Christmas,
    Love all lovely, Love Divine,
    Love was born at Christmas,
    Star and Angels gave the sign.

    

    Love shall be our token,
    Love be yours and love be mine,
    Love to God and all men,
    Love for plea and gift and sign.

As the elves sang a huge, great lump of what looked to Ross and Dem like dough, but was really a pliable mass of cooked sugar flavored with peppermint with broad stripes of red on its outside. It tossed and turned, round and round and with a wiggle of Blinkers' nose a strand appeared from the front of the huge tablet of candy that wound forward down a shallow little chute. Ross and Dem watched, enrapt as it turned and turned into a brightly striped, spinning, stretched line of candy. All the elves looked on happiness in the continued novelty of seeing two children watching an unfamiliar sweet being made and anxious to see them shape the candy canes. The tablet, so bulky and ungainly at the beginning began to narrow as white and red striped sticks came shooting out on to the large white tables. More giggles erupted as Ross looked longingly at the pile of candy sticks. They were beautiful! Shiny candy that held its own shape with pretty stripes all round it. Demelza looked on with awe too. It was nothing like the sweets they had in their own world, oh to taste them! And use magic to shape them! The machine made lots and lots of striped rods of candy and six of them rolled forward to land in front of Ross and Dem. A seventh rolled into place, later than the rest and wiggled itself in front of Mrs. Claus. She smiled as they looked to her, waiting to see them shaped into canes. "They are quite tasty as they are but they are more correct for Christmas when they are shaped as a cane," And the seventh bent itself into a cane as Ross and Dem stood a little straighter in surprise. Ross mouth fell open. "How...? How did it bend?" Mrs. Claus placed a gentle hand on Ross' shoulder. "Try it," she smiled. "Think of how the cane should be..." Ross looked at Dem, perplexed. How can you just think the candy into shape? Dem was just as baffled but said, "Try it, Ross..." eager to see if he could. Ross looked at one of the candy sticks. He looked at the one Mrs. Claus bent, looked at the shape of it. He looked at the stick of candy and felt a push in his mind, an effort in thought he could feel. A sensation in his head that fell a beat behind his eyes as he watched the candy stick quiver on the table and then bend into a cane. Dem gasped, the elves applauded and Mrs. Claus, Father Christmas and Zhara smiled indulgently. Ross looked wonderstruck. Astonished and happy. "I did it!" he said in disbelief. He turned to Dem. "Try one, Dem!" Demelza looked at one of the candy sticks and it bent itself into a cane at her thought. She gasped. "And it just happens!?" Ross bent another. The elves all cheered. Dem thought one into a heart. It curled its points together and made itself heart shaped. "Awwwwwwwww!" Ross and Dem smiled at each other, winsome and admiring as the elves cooed at the sight. "Oh Dem, that's lovely!" said Mrs. Claus. Father Christmas nodded. "A very good job children! Do have fun, I must away..." The clamor to bow and curtsy and say "Goodbye! Goodbye!" as Father Christmas and Zhara disappeared back to the library was loud and fun for Ross and Dem to watch as well as participating themselves. They were honorary elves today, thought Ross and Dem. They were happy to see them make candy canes and it was wonderful fun to bend the candy by thinking it so. Ross and Demelza assumed they were given the talent for this cane bending as a favor of the day, a treat. They did not know it to be their magic. When fairy dust trailed the hem of Dem's dress or puffed at Ross' feet as he ran in their play they believed it to be part of the way of things here, not emanating from any sort of magic of their own. They spent a happy hour bending candy into all sorts of shapes. The elves shouted ideas and they all laughed as many different shapes of twisted peppermint sticks glimmered on the table. Mrs. Claus put an arm around each of them as Ross and Dem looked at their work with delighted pride. "Now you must taste your creations!" said Mrs. Claus. Ross and Dem chose a candy cane and all in the room waited to see what the Georgian children thought of a different time period's sweets. With a pause, to try and taste at the same time, Ross and Dem put the cane in their mouth. Ross tasted his at the tip of the cane and Dem sampled hers from the bottom, holding the curved part. "Mmmmmmmm!" They signaled their enjoyment without letting the candy leave their mouths. It was intensely sweet with a fresh taste of peppermint and the candy melted slowly on the tongue. They both loved the taste of the candy canes and the texture of them, smooth as glass and long lasting in a way the candies of their time were not. "They are delicious!" said Ross. "They are wonderful" said Dem. "Yay!" cried the elves as they applauded their guests in their first attempt at magical candy making. Mrs. Claus and the elves shared a smile of satisfaction. Such a magical day, to make candy with real humans!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Candy and a Currant Bun, Pink Floyd 1967
> 
> Love Came Down At Christmas, Christina Rossetti 1885
> 
> Candy canes are said to be a gambit to keep the choir children quiet when songs were not necessary during religious pageants in 1670s Cologne, Germany. They were simple sticks of sugar and bent at the top to resemble shepherd's crooks.  
> Candy canes were mentioned in print specifically hung as peppermint flavored Christmas decorations in the 1880s. The first entirely automated candy cane machine was patented in 1957. Machines did exist to make the candy sticks from the early 1920s but they still had to be bent into canes by hand.


	7. Lovesong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A treatise on the construction of personages made from snow

As I sat on a sunny bank  
On Christmas day, on Christmas day  
As I sat on a sunny bank  
On Christmas day in the morning

I saw three ships go sailin' by  
Go sailing by, go sailing by  
I saw three ships go sailing by  
On Christmas day in the morning

And who should be upon that ship  
But Joseph and his fair lady  
And who should be upon that ship  
On Christmas day in the morning

Oh, he did whistle and she did sing  
And she did sing, oh, she did sing  
Yes, he did whistle and she did sing  
On Christmas day in the morning

Ross and Dem hopped and skipped in the cold air, breath leaving their mouths in clouds of steam as they sang in the orchard grove, white with frost rather than snow. Swaddled under the careful eyes of Jud and Prudie in Ross' knitted scarf and cap and Dem's warm shawl and bonnet, knitted stockings that were thick and colored quite like porridge on both of them over their indoor ones and their boots tied tight. They would have Christmas lunch at Ross' house and the day was chilly but dry. A good day to play even as it was cold. The clouds in the sky were silver white and promised snow. "Prudie thinks it will snow tonight!" said Dem as she came around the side of a tree trunk. "So does Jud!" said Ross, smiling to meet her. "He said it might be lots and lots! We could make a snowman!" Dem never thought to make a man out of snow. "You mean make the snow look like a person?" she asked, struck with wonder. "Yes!" smiled Ross. "Jud said he would help! He can make it tall like a grown up!" Dem was intrigued. "If it snows lots and lots, we must make a snowman!" They nodded agreement and continued to play. Racing kept one warm for all it was frigid outside. The quiet of the bare trees standing in their places, waiting for spring made their laughter and talk seem loud. Prudie called them in. They ran to the backs of their houses, entering at Ross' gate where Prudie was waiting for them. "Be time for vittles," She guided them forward with a gentle hand on each of their shoulders and they smiled up at her as they went in under her direction. "Master Paynter has all near ready. Ee needs t'get out of yer woolens..."

Prudie helped them both out of their cold weather wrappings and they clambered to their seats at the table, smiling expectedly at Jud who placed a handsome roast goose on the table with an indulgent smile as Prudie tucked napkins around them both to spare their clothes from errant crumbs or stains during the meal. Jud and Ross were happy in each other's company, content to be a pair. The friendship they enjoyed with their next door neighbors was a nice addition to Christmas day. To share dinner with Mistress Lyon and her niece made the day more festive and made the smile on Ross' face bloom that much more. Having his friend at his side for Christmas made Ross happy and Jud liked to see the lad in good spirits as well as being happy himself to host Prudie. A recent agreement to address each other formally in front of the children and allow the use of her name between them had also cheered Jud. She had subtle ways of teasing him for she often called him "Jud Paynter" in front of the youngsters as well as apart. The formality of it became lost by over use. Jud's code switching, the necessary demarcation what he called her whether they were in earshot of the children or not did not exist for her. A gentle one upmanship that amused both of them. A gentle acknowledgement that Jud's use of her first name was a intimacy _she_ enjoyed and a happiness between them. "Can we really make a man out of snow, Jud?!" asked Dem between forkfulls of a very good Christmas Lunch. "Aye, M'lady!" said Jud. "I reckon it'll be a deal of snow by tomorrow. If'n it stay a wet sort of snow ee can make snowballs the size of ee an' they can sit one on the other like a right good gent." said Jud offering Prudie a top off of her drink. Dem and Ross widened their eyes at the thought. Snowballs the size of themselves! "I did hear tell of a gent made of snow, " said Prudie. The children sat up a little in the chairs. Surely a story was about to be told. "Did ee now, Mistress Lyon?" asked Jud in a leading manner as they clicked a toast between them with Cheshire Cat smiles. "Aye, sir. A right proper gent who kept 'imself by sellin' ices," Ross and Dem began to giggle at the thought. A man made of snow selling cold sweets. Ices were for fancy folk. The expense to keep ice houses and purchase of ice was one only wealthy people could meet. "He sold to all the high folk," said Prudie, pausing to take a sip of canary wine, a treat she rarely tasted. Jud received a bottle of canary and a bottle of port from Trenwith along with Ross' Christmas present. Being a modest drinker, content with cider, fruit cordials and ale, Jud enjoyed them throughout the year at a slow pace. There was sherry too, but Jud didn't have much call to sup at that often. He was happy to be able to have canary to offer at the Christmas table, made it seem a feast in truth, festive. "Aye." continued Prudie. "All the lords n' ladies came to like 'is ices and they were that sad when spring come along and 'e melted," Ross and Dem gasped. "He melted?!" said Ross "Did that mean he died?!" he blinked up at her with concern. Prudie's eyes widened. She had not meant to introduce death or sadness to the tale. Ross was a sensitive mite. "Nay, lad. Nay" said Prudie, gently. Ross and Dem both breathed a sigh of relief. Prudie looked to Jud with a smile, a smile between adults who adored their young charges. She assured Master Ross with a sunny smile. "He would melt into the ground an' make the flowers grow. He'd 'ave a right good sleep, dreamin' up all the wonderful ices he would make when winter d'come round again. An' sure enough, the snow would fall an' the gent woke up, put on 'is apron and made all them ices again and sold 'em on t'the gentle folk." Ross smiled. "I had ice cream once! Maybe he made it! Uncle Charles always likes fancy things!" Dem sighed. Ices were as fanciful as men made of snow. She never tasted ice cream. "Oh! How nice! Wouldn't ice cream be nice...?" she said dreamily to no one in particular. Prudie and Jud exchanged a conspiratorial look. Jud stood to clear plates. A nice visit in the parlor and then tucking into a Christmas pudding would finish things splendidly. Jud and Prudie sat by the fire with Tabitha Bethia curled up near. Ross and Dem watched the snow falling at the window and drew pictures on the glass with the warmth of their forefingers. They drew stars and animals and happy faces that might have been Garrick and Tabitha Bethia, Jud and Prudie and Ross and Dem. They admired the pictures. A glaze of water melting from the warmth of their hands in the lines of the pictures froze once the cold of the glass took hold. They watched the sky and Dem put her arm around Ross' shoulder for he was a good friend and they would enter the New Year as they left the old one, playing and being good friends. Ross felt Dem put her arm around him and he clutched at her hand at his shoulder with feeling. Dem was his friend and the newness of their acquaintance had become what was. She played with him everyday and made everyday wonderful. It was Christmas and he had a friend. He leaned his head next to hers, looked to her with a broad look of contentment. It was a happy Christmas. "Happy Christmas, Dem!" smiled Ross. Dem smiled as Ross often liked. The happiness in her made her eyes sparkle a bit more. "Happy Christmas, Ross!" They watched with anticipation as the snow fell thickly and blew about in the air as darkness fell. Tomorrow, Jud would help them make a man out of snow.

The snow subsided by mid morning. Jud, ever a gentleman, shoveled clean their neighbor's front steps as well as their own and cleared a path in the yard so the side gate and Mistress Lyon's entrance was accessible between their houses. Dem ate up her breakfast in a hurry and amused Garrick by fidgeting herself back and forth throughout the house, impatient for Ross and Jud to call and begin the days proceedings. "You ain't got yer mittens, luv. Ee needs mittens if ee be pushing snow about!" Prudie knelt down to put the finishing touches to Dem's outdoor ensemble. A second knitted bonnet over the first as well as mittens and the extra stockings and a warm woven shawl Prudie crossed the ends over the front and tied them behind to keep it in place. Just as Dem was starting to feel over warm there was a knock on the gate door to the yard. Like a shot Dem ran to the gate door making Garrick bark in the surprise of her quick movements. "Hello, Jud! Hello, Ross!" Dem bopped up and down on her toes, anxious to begin and grinning at Ross who looked over the bottom half of the gate with a hat and scarf also knitted by Prudie. "Jud says the snow is just right, Dem! Just right for a snowman!" Jud looked to Prudie and tugged his hat. He had on a thick wool tricorn hat, a bit battered, a bit careworn, old. He gave a slight bow in her direction. "Mistress Lyon..." She smiled a warm smile with a glint in her eye. "Ah, I d'think Dem might be ready to make a man out of snow, Jud Paynter. If'n manage tha, mayhaps ee n' Master Ross might stop for supper tonight. I 'ave a beef pie goin' an' a new receipt for puddin'..." At this news both Ross and Dem perked up with curiosity. Something new for afters! "Aye, ma'am. We'd be much obliged. Thank ee." Jud smiled between the children. "Well M'lady, the snow be callin'!" Dem rushed through the gate and into the cold air, still filled with light, floating snow flakes and the outdoors hushed from the winter snow. "Yay!" Ross took Dem's hand and they made for the orchard. Jud and Prudie watched Ross and Dem run to the gate, poking holes in the snow as they ran to the orchard chattering and giggling and falling into the effortless fun they always contrived when they met in play. Jud tipped his hat again. "Good day, Prudie," he smiled. "Good day, Jud Paynter," smiled Prudie.

A good six inches lay about. Enough to be a lot but not so much that the children could not stomp through it. They picked up handfuls of snow and felt it clump together. Could see their finger marks through the knitted mittens mushed in it. They stood comparing the blobs of snow in their hands as Jud came upon them. "Aye. Lay it on the ground, like. Right like tha!" They did so and Jud pushed one forward along the ground. It became a little bigger because it attracted snow from the ground like iron filings to a magnet. The children began to see the idea. "If'n ee keeps rollin' it, it'll get big as you grufflers an' no mistake!" Ross nudged it forward, then Dem. They took turns and went towards the orchard grove. It was the height of their shins, then the height of their knees. It soon became large enough they could roll it along the ground together and they did so. Jud kept near. The laughter and chatter of a wonderstruck Ross and Dem made his heart glad. These were the days when all of life was new and joys that much more exciting for it. Two good'uns on a winter's day and snow to play in with a pipping hot supper waiting and the promise of a treat for afters. Simple pleasures... "Jud! It's stuck!" said Ross. The children stood at either side of a boulder of snow, not quite their height but very impressive and now difficult to keep moving. Ross and Dem smiled expectantly, swaddled in woolens and very proud of the giant snow ball. "Well! Tha be right good legs!" Dem laughed. "Legs?!" Jud nodded. "Aye, maid. Rolling another will make 'is middle an' a smaller one 'll make 'is head." Ross ran forward, all the way, all the way, all the way back to retrieve Dem's little snowball, still on the ground from when they started. He trotted back in comically big, stomping steps to get through the snow back to Jud and Dem. "We'll use your's for the middle, Dem!" This was agreed to and Jud offered to make the head so all could be assembled when the middle was done. They rolled another snowball, still marveling at the speed with which it gained size along the ground. "'Ere! Roll it this a way afore it get too big!" called Jud and they changed course to meet Jud. "Aye! Now we needs a little fixin'..." They stood near and watched Jud lift the second snowball on to the first and the third on top of that. "Oh!" said Dem. "It does look like a person!" Ross nodded. "It does! It does! We made a snowman, Dem!" Jud smiled. "Well, I reckon 'e needs a face..." Ross and Dem grinned and could feel the cold on their teeth. Jud's tone of voice suggested he had the accoutrements to provide a face for the gentleman and it proved to be true. Jud rifled through his pockets and before you could say Kris Kringle, the gentleman had two acorns, for eyes, a funny twist of twig that was quite like a smile and to the children's laughing delight, Jud produced a carrot that stuck in the center of his face for a nose. They jumped up and down in excitement. They laughed and admired the man made from snowballs quite as big as themselves. For good measure, Jud removed the old tricorn hat from his head and placed it on the snow gentlman's head. The snowman was very distinguished. Ross and Dem danced around their snowman in delight and, having had their fun, Jud walked them back home that they not catch cold in their woolens so coated in snow. Jud offered them a hand each and Ross and Dem walked home on either side of Jud, stomping through the snow with a skip in their step when the level of snowdrift permitted it. 

"And Jud put a carrot on his face for a nose!" Prudie draped a towel over Dem, helping her out of a tub near the fire. Dem told Prudie all about her day as the warm water in the tub and warm fire made her all toasty after a cold day's play. Prudie gave Dem an extra squeeze of a hug as she dried Dem well, careful of not letting her catch a chill, and brought her clothes from the rack where they were warming to dress her. The wet woolens hung by the fire. She lugged the tub out, having dipped out and taken away buckets of water from it to discard and lighten the weight of the tub. "There ee are, luv, all dry an' warmed up too. Ee sit wi' Garrick an' Master Ross'll be 'ere for supper soon..." Dem sat on the floor of the parlor and regaled the dog with the story of the snowman. The fading light of the day made the candles and fire light that much more golden and warm. Dem sat near Garrick, snug and warm, a glowing sense of contentment in her from a day of fun in the snow. The scent of beef and onions, a whisper of laurel leaf and rosemary and the coziness of baking pastry wafted from kitchen. Ross would be at their house for dinner and Prudie promised something special for afters. "What a lovely day..." sighed Demelza. "Wasn't it a lovely day, Garrick?" asked Dem. Garrick gave a snuffly snort that could be seen as agreement. They sat quiet by the fire and Dem stroked Garrick's back, lulling him into a pleasant drowsiness. In no time at all, a knock on the front door. Prudie answered. Jud and Master Ross, bouncing on his heels and holding Jud's hand smiled at her. "Ah! Just in time, right enough, Master Paynter. Do come in Master Ross, I see'd your snowman! 'Andsome as can be!" Ross grinned up at her. Dem came alongside Prudie. "Hello, Dem!" Ross had barely said his hello before he was pulled by the hand to come to the table. Their giggling and happy talk disappearing deeper into the house. Prudie gestured Jud forward. "Evenin' Jud Paynter." she said with a hint of coquette in her voice. Jud kissed her hand. "Well met, Prudie." said Jud. They had a good supper, the perfect sort for a cold winter's night. A rich gravy with onions and soft chunks of meat under a layer of pastry that fell away from the fork in a toothsome flakiness. The talk was ordinary but that was nice. The quiet merging of two households, meal by meal, smile by smile. It was a pleasant meal and the children were hungry from play and ate well. They hummed with curiosity because Prudie had promised a new treat tonight, a recipe she had not made before. After a restful visit in the parlor, Jud asked with a conspiratorial glint in his eye, "Ah, Mistress Lyon. I 'eard tell ee 'ad a puddin' tha ain't been made afore..." She looked to the children who where near to burst from the excitement of being told what the sweet would be. "Aye, Jud Paynter. I reckon we should taste it. It's said to be a rare treat." Ross and Dem looked to each other and smiled expectantly. "Where might it be?" asked Jud, trying not to laugh. "In the kitchen?" asked Jud. "Nay." said Prudie. "Then I reckon it's in the pantry?" asked Jud. "Nay..." said Prudie with a teasy voice. The children sat up a little, interested to wonder where dessert might be if not the kitchen or the pantry. Jud pretended to look around the room and the children laughed. "Mayhaps it be here already?" asked Jud. Prudie stood. "Oh, aye, but not in the house. The puddin' be in the yard..." she said making to retrieve her shawl. "The yard?!" said Ross and Dem in mystified surprise. "Aye." smiled Prudie. As she went to the gate door the children scrambled to follow and the watched over the lower gate door with Jud standing with them as Prudie tucked up in her shawl went to the base of the lilac tree in the yard, lying dormant in the winter and waiting for spring's return to bring a covered dish that had been nestled in snow into the house. Ross and Dem began to hop up and down in glee. Whatever dessert could be it was the very height of excitement. Prudie brought the dish inside, nodding her thanks to Jud for opening the gate door for her. He shut up both doors to keep out the cold. The children trotted behind her in a lather of anticipation. "What is it Prudie?!" asked Dem. "Yes! Yes! Tell us Prudie, won't you?!" said Ross. "We 'ave ice cream!" announced Prudie. Dem gasped. Ross jumped up and down in glee! "Oh, Prudie! Truly?" asked Dem. "Aye maid. I ain't made it afore. I figured t'try even if I ain't made of snow," here the children giggled. Prudie continued. "Wi' it bein' cold enough to keep it froze, like, I figured it wouldn't 'urt to try..."

It was splendid! A rich, velvety cold custard with a pale blush color underneath a golden hue. It had a wonderful speckles of finely crushed almonds and bits of heavy cake crushed just as fine mixed through it. It melted on the tongue in a silky smoothness and the cake and nuts were delicious. They were part of the cream and apart from the cream at the same time. Dem's eyelashes fluttered in a dreamy smiling enjoyment of it, sweetening Ross' enjoyment that much more because Dem's pretty, red eyelashes were a fascination of his. "I say!" crowed Ross, clutching his spoon between bites, "This is the most wonderful ice cream ever, Prudie!" Dem nodded vigorously in agreement. "Oh yes, Prudie! It's that good!" Jud nodded. He and Prudie smiled a collusion for his donation of a bottle of sherry when she mentioned a possible use of the liquor going a begging brought the tasty treat about. "A fine puddin' Mistress Lyon." said Jud. Prudie had a grateful smile for all round the table and thank them for the compliments. It was sensible to try an ice cream reciept on a snowy day for it was easily frozen for eating and any remaining could be kept over. As to the first it was necessary to the dessert's preparation. At the last Prudie needn't have worried. They ate up the lot. Ross and Dem had a full day of fun but the day had come to an end. The gents took their leave through the front door. Jud resisted using the doors of the yard as frequently as Prudie and the children did. He felt, as a man paying call on an unmarried woman, it was respectful and fitty to use the front door. The children and Prudie's frequent care of them both made their use of the yard a sensible passageway. Jud didn't want to be seen as taking liberties with his neighbor's property or her honor. Ross waved goodbye to Dem, each secure that play and new adventures would resume tomorrow. He hopped down the tidy steps, holding Jud's hand lest the ground be slippy from ice as they continued home. They stood at the bottom of the steps and made their bow to the ladies. Dem and Prudie curtsied from the mouth of the door. "Good night!" said Prudie. Dem got ready for bed with Prudie's assistance. Prudie tucked her in bed and wished her good night. Dem curled up in her bed and slept well, having had a fun day with lots of fresh air, exercise and laughter. Dem dreamt well, having pretty dreams of snow and happiness, quite like real life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovesong, The Cure 1989
> 
> I Saw Three Ships, Traditional, the 17th century being the earliest written version  
> At the last chapter of Ross Poldark when it is mentioned that "She took big masculine strides to keep up with his, but every now and again would have to give a little skip to make good ground. She fitted these in with her song so that her voice gave an upward skip at the same time as her feet." The song, as per the Ward Lock edition was "I Saw Three Ships".
> 
> As I sat on a sunny bank  
> On Christmas(hop) Day, on Christmas(hop) Day  
> As I sat on a sunny bank  
> On Christmas day in the morning
> 
> I saw three ships come sailing (hop)in  
> On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day  
> Come sailing in, come sailing(hop)in  
> I saw three ships come sailing in  
> On Christmas day in the morning
> 
> receipt: recipe
> 
> puddin'/pudding: dessert
> 
> liquor going a begging: Jud had a bottle of sherry unused and not earmarked for a purpose
> 
> It was splendid: ice cream flavored with sherry, crushed nuts and cake or biscuit crumbs is called "Bisque", (possibly a variant of Biscuit Tortoni an 19th century dessert featuring crushed Amaretti cookies) Bisque is a light flavoring of sherry in an unflavored or vanilla flavored ice cream base with finely crushed nuts and "plain" vanilla cake or cookie crumbs. Recent configurations under this name that include broken up macaroons, chocolate, marshmallows (wut?)and other alcohol flavorings like rum, as far as this eater is concerned, are not fitty!


	8. Why Don't We Get Things Started?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gift of the Magi  
> 1980

Work helped. Having a great deal to do made it easier to carry on as normal. The ongoing dancing lessons, the studio work, travel up to places like Birmingham to film television performances, photo sessions, the hum of activity in Dem's life made the year turn faster than she thought it would. The children were happy. Ross was as tame as a kitten. Dem's seasick anxiety over making decisions about her marriage had faded somewhat. It seemed petty to dredge up problems after time apart. It was lovely to see Jeremy and Clowance so content in London. Ross was courteous and contrite. Ross was Ross. He kept the home fires burning as she gadded about. And of course the tour was eminent... Why cause disruption when she would be abroad for months? And if she was honest, there really was a vain little part of her that liked being "Thy Sweetness". Particularly after the Christmas special when Ross performed it again the public's imagination was renewed. Ross and Dem were love's dream, a golden couple. Admitting any problems between them would bring the tabloids down on them like a load of bricks. Love gone wrong when a good amount of young girls still had a Christmas special poster on their wardrobe door would be a feeding frenzy. That could cause more poking about for scandal. Dem had lived through the notoriety of their wedding, the explosion of gossip after Resurgam's tour ended early because of Mark Daniel strangling his wife, Ross' heroin registration getting into the papers during the trial. That would be a picnic if more recent scandals came to light. Both Brodrugan and Hugh insisted all was dealt with, that none of it* could possibly come out but Dem could never leave fear of discovery aside. Divorce might bring too much digging by the gutter press and those bones must stay buried. Dem was busy. It helped her to push aside these issues. It made things easier. Staying together, for the children, for their reputation, to guard against scandal mongers was the simplest solution. She also could admit she still loved Ross. To her Ross had always been one step more than a husband. He had, as it were, created her out of the nothing that she had been. In thirteen-odd years she had become "Demelza Poldark". More than one journalist suggested that she was "made", that she owed her glittering career to Hugh Armitage and his management voodoo but it was Ross that plucked her up out of the gutter, beaten, lice ridden and lowly. It was Ross that gave her a gentry girl's education and piano lessons. It was Ross who taught her guitar... Hugh had polished her, with new skills, more show biz verve but it was Ross who saw the diamond in the rough, Ross was the one who thought her into being more than a timid little Luggy. More than that, he had married her, given her his love -most of the time- his loving care -all of the time- his trust, his confidences, two fine homes, servants and three beautiful children, two of whom survived. To throw that aside, upset the children, bring the wrath of the tabloids down on them, lose their gilded place in the eyes of her fans... For something that was over and done... Hugh was circumspect and professional. He was courteous and maintained a blameless friendship with Dem as her manager and her bass player. Hugh made no suggestion in his interactions with her that he might harbor any lingering attraction to her. The Plaza might not have happened at all**. All between them was professional. The dalliance she indulged in two years ago had no bearing on this, she had to think of her marriage in clear terms, apart from that time, focus on now. Dem came to this conclusion as the months flew by. Work helped...

Work helped. Having a great deal to do made it easier to carry on as normal. The consultations were frequent enough to be regular but not to the point that the children missed out. So content with Jinny and Betsy, Jeremy at school, Ross' counseling of EMI artists with substance abuse issues was a good fit. The label did not expect much from the arrangement, it was seen as a favor to Sir Hugh Brodrugan to bring Ross Poldark on board in such a capacity, some older executives didn't mind telling Ross so to his face. Ross remained circumspect. But he had quickly gained a reputation for being a sensible listening ear and helped many an out of control musician find the determination to get sorted. Ross was old enough to be seen as a peer by the long career artists and looked to with respect by the newcomers. Resurgam, Ross' band, had a cachet, a coolness in being a 60s outfit that didn't have a goodie goodie reputation and "Thy Sweetness" had not dulled that edge in the eyes of the younger artists. It was a redemption arc they could trust. Not some happy clappy, God squad type. A proper rocker who knew the score. Who had a wife and family and made it work. Someone you could believe understood the lifestyle and the temptations within it. Straight talk. Sir Hugh Brodrugan, the power baron of EMI's corporate interests, was practically slapping his boots over the success of his insistance that Ross be utilized within the label this way and be proven right. EMI paid an absurd amount of money keeping Ross on retainer. He was called in as necessary and had and office reserved for his use in EMI's headquarters. A sparse affair that Ross made no attempt to personalize but gave the impression that he had the whole of EMI at his back when he met people there. It was rewarding. It was work. It allowed him to be at home most days and be with Jeremy and Clowance. It gave Dem peace of mind to do what she needed to do. Ross was a tamed creature. He would let her do what she needed to do. He was "Demelza Poldark's Husband" and he accepted the role as final penance for the spiral of insecurity and jealousy that had put his marriage on thin ice once they returned from America. Dem put up with drugs, alcohol, adultery, an illegitimate child, ****, and ****. That Demelza didn't kick him out and divorce him upon returning to England was a miracle. Ross was hard pressed to believe in miracles. He knew he had to earn his place at her side. _Again_. If a cat had nine lives his was close to the end of the line. He had reached balance in his life. Perhaps his behaviour in America was the extinction burst of Ross' immature impulses. That it took this long for Ross to gain some sort of maturity was humbling and one of the reasons why his counsel in substance abuse issues had become so effective. Ross categorically rejected Alcoholics Anonymous, for himself, when it was explained to him that he must submit to a higher power to bring himself to completion. Ross had no truck or faith in a god who took his family away from him. He had more than one bone to pick with god. Ross reversed his ingrained stubbornness to his advantage. He submitted to a more potent form of faith. He risked his marriage two separate times through his undisciplined substance abuse. He would not make it three. Ross had the sense and tact not to dissuade others from AA, but his redemption arc was a personal battle stemming from true acceptance of his responsibility to behave properly in fulfillment of the most basic wish that haunted Ross' entire life, a realization of a basic truth that Ross had ignored, a truth he denied, a truth that he had avoided, a truth he resisted but strove to live by now; In order to _have_ family, one must _be_ family. He would be family in truth. Ross made a sacred pact with himself. Even if Dem finally tired of his previous antics and left him, a decision that was her right to make, he would still go forward being responsible and sober. Be a good father and remain Dem's friend clear eyed, clear mind and no slipping back. Dem stayed. At this moment, they were still together and Ross was grateful. Life had lost its sharp edges for the Poldarks as well. After so many hard times financially, after a period of true stability and a comfortable life without having to pinch pennies, Ross in his capacity at EMI and Dem so well remunerated by Hugh's shrewd business sense were, at this moment, genuinely wealthy. They still lived in an ordinary manner, so used to hard times, they both behaved as if the money would dry up tomorrow but they had ample cushion these days. Ross had money to spare and Christmas was approaching. Dem still wore her gold charm, a script letter "D", sometimes. He had not bought much jewellery for her. He could afford to set aside practicality and purchase something frivolous and beautiful for Christmas. Ross could give Dem a gift that dazzled and a token of his affection. Not a guilt gift, a Christmas gift with a flourish befitting a couple who had limped over the line and now stood poised to remain on safer ground, in their wealth and successes, in their family life. It was a new decade and they were still here.

Garrard in Regent Street was a long admired jeweller, holding a Royal Warrant and favored for their elegant designs. Like the rest of the tony shops of Regent Street, the store was liveried in Christmas decorations and its staff primed for a day on their feet from morning to night serving the posh clientele of men acquiring presents for their mistresses, wives or girlfriends. Holiday music was piped in at a discreet volume and hum of decisions being mulled over with the mostly female holiday staff lent a serious atmosphere. Very few of the wealthy shoppers who entered the store in the run up to Christmas intended to leave empty handed. Ross, not often in the situation of buying fine jewellery wanted to find something traditional enough to be "serious" but a design that suited Demelza. He just wanted to look about, not certain if he would find a piece in this hushed elegant place that suited his vivacious, free spirited wife. Dem often wore glamorous clothes when she had modelling assignments but still favored sprightly embroidered blouses and a pastoral prettiness in her day to day life. Even when Dem's clothes were made of silk, a bit more fancy she still had that fresh, fey look about her. Was there a jewel to be had that fit her style too? Why not look? The store did not just offer personal adornment. There were clocks and table ornaments, watches and bits and bobs that cost the earth. The store was lush, stuffed with choices and, to Ross' relief, a bit busy. He could have a look see and consider things without fuss. In his ordinary overcoat, a knit hat that had seen better days he was not seen by the senior staff as a serious shopper. Having muttered his intent to simply look they turned their attention to clients who were needing proper assistance. The highest high flyers were in private consulting rooms but the retail arm was hopping at Christmas so both the staff and Ross were content. It was the youngest girl, the Sloaney sort who often spoke of her down to earth lifestyle in the flat her father bought her and her "proper job" that first realized there was a star in their midst. She turned to her older co worker. "Isn't that...?" before she could say more she was called away. Garrard preferred the dewy youths to assist the senior salespeople in the private consultation salons. With reluctance she disappeared into the back. "Portia?!" she whispered to another girl at bringing back used teacups. "What?" Portia narrowed her eyes. India looked positively ecstatic. "Ross Poldark is out front!" Portia's eyes reversed. They were now as large as headlights on a vehicle. "No! Really? Is he being served?!" India shook her head. "He's looking about! Miss Rayne doesn't even recog..."Portia set the teacups down, turned in a frantic way towards a nearby mirror to make sure she was fighting fit, "Don't you believe it!" she said shaking her hair for a bit more lift, turning her head this way and that insuring she looked her best. "Even if she doesn't notice him right now, I've heard her humming along to "Thy Sweetness" when it comes over the sound system! She'll nab him out front and we won't get a look in!" Portia ducked back to see the other girl their age still fetching and carrying trays of jewels for a different client. "Jane!" hissed Portia. Jane looked over her shoulder, blinked 'What?'. "Ross Poldark is out front!" Jane's mouth fell open. "Noooooo! Oh Hell! I'm stuck back here and you two get to see a proper rock star?!" She stamped her foot in annoyance. "Miss Smyth!" Jane pouted, whispered "Why do I always get the short straw?!" then called out. "Yes, sir!" and brought the tray to the client. India looked to Portia. She was up to something. "We need to get him back here!" India's smile was devious and impressed. "Tell Miss Amberfoyle we have a VIP who needs private handling! Whisper! Lay it on thick that he's a star. If we have to be marooned back here let it be with Ross Poldark!"

"Miss Amberfoyle?" The older woman, readying items that had been shown but not chosen for purchase to be put back in safety, whether that home be display vitrine or vault. She was grand enough in her manner she simply raised an eyebrow for the junior staff member to continue. India came closer. "Ma'am, there is a high profile client out front. The musician, Ross Poldark is looking at the retail jewellery. He might be better served in consultation, Ma'am..." Miss Amberfoyle looked unimpressed. "If he was that sort of client he would have requested it from the outset." India, expecting this reasoning continued her attempt to get Ross Poldark into the private salons. "Ma'am! He is looking at women's pieces, his wife is Demelza Pol..." Miss Amberfoyle blinked in recognition of the singular sounding name. A red headed model she had noticed in the Sunday magazine some weeks ago, a striking girl, memorable. "Poldark, you say? The model?" India saw the older woman perk up at that. A girl in the magazines, that's the sort of thing she could understand. Exposure. That she came across Dem Poldark in a publication she favored lent her a sort of vetting. The sort of model that might be seen about in the "right" places. "Yes," said India, reeling Miss Amberfoyle in like a careful angler. "She's a musician too and is often in the papers! She might well be photographed wearing what he gives her..."

Ross was becoming discouraged. The jewels were colorful and grand but the formality of them just didn't seem like something Dem would want. Even the pendants and necklace charms were grandiose and flashy. Impressive single stones surrounded in diamonds that were certainly nice looking but he could not envision Dem wearing them. There were sets of sensational glamour. Necklace, bracelet and earrings that all matched. One might see their like at the opera or the on the subtly competing mothers at the Easter Ball, launching their daughters into Truro society and reminding all of their own pedigree. Even the bracelets and brooches that resembled flowers just didn't seem like her style. They had money now but they did not have a need for such ostentatious display. Ross felt a bit discouraged and was on the verge of leaving when an older woman with a immovable swirl of blue tinted hair upon her brow like a royal crown asked. "Good afternoon, sir. Are you being served?" Ross hesitated. These examples in their cases held little allure for him. He could not see Demelza having much call for jewellery like this. But... "I was looking intending to find a gift for my wife but these designs are too formal, too..." He couldn't think of a way to explain Dem's taste without sounding disparaging of the store's wares. She smiled. "Perhaps, sir, you might consult some of our heritage and estate pieces? We do offer private viewing..." Ross knit his brows. "Heritage?" A Cheshire Cat look settled on the older woman's face. Ross didn't know whether to be relieved or frightened. She might have been a helpful salesperson or witch making ready to lure him into a pie. "If the contemporary designs are not to the lady's taste you may find something more suitable from our selection of older, more traditional pieces. Come this way, sir," Like a form of hypnotism, Ross followed as she turned briskly, not having asked his intent, simply demanding he follow. 'Old fashioned... Something pretty and old fashioned...' thought Ross. That struck him as more to Dem's taste. India, Portia and Jane squealed in glee. Miss Amberfoyle was leading Ross Poldark to the consulting salons! They were going to be face to face with Ross Poldark to and help him find a present for Dem! They assembled themselves at the mouth of the corridor. Making themselves useful and aiming to get the plum job of assisting Miss Amberfoyle's client. The lady in question was not born yesterday. The girls wanted to be near a handsome pop star. Well, let them. And who knows, maybe this man who looks to all the world like the sort who would beg in the street for alms might drop a packet on an antique piece... It was a different sort of shopping. Three young assistants and an older woman who would not look out of place as a no nonsense headmistress in a school suggesting much more sentimental jewels, old and more naturalistic. Ross could agree there was better choice for something Dem would actually like. The stones were as high quality as their modern counterparts but they were presented in wreaths of flowers cast in silver or gold, milky carved images of ships, of plants, of women's faces placed upon soft colored cameos. Painted scenes enameled on lockets, beads that were actually faceted gems not glass. Pretty things that Ross could imagine Dem wearing and enjoying. After a half an hour, two purchases, three autographs, thanks for their professional assistance and a great deal of money changing hands, Ross was escorted to the front just in time to hear "Thy Sweetness" play in the store. He chuckled to himself, smiling up at the speakers in the ceiling and hoping that his song coming on now was a sign he had chosen well. Miss Rayne at the front of the store looked at him and did a gasping double take in surprise. "Oh my! It's you! That's your song isn't it!" Ross, in his old knit hat and dark overcoat nodded and answered with true satisfaction, "Yes, ma'am. Happy Christmas."

Dem entered the lounge and stopped, with a smile, to see Ross reading his newspaper. He had it over his face, as Jud did when he read his, and it was humorous to her seeing the subtle transference of Jud's habit becoming Ross'. "We should get presents for Clowance and Jeremy," said Dem since the children were with Jinny and Betsy and out of earshot. "Yes," said Ross, looking up from his newspaper. "But the minute we set foot in a shop we'll have half the photographers in London along for the excursion..." Up went the newspaper once more. Demelza laughed. "We shall tell Jinny and Betsy to hide the papers so they don't see their gifts!" Ross rolled his eyes. Dem had a much more tolerant view of the situation with the photographers shadowing them, the occasional nuisance of kids who found their London address and yowled Dem's songs like drunk alley cats outside on the pavement. The weirder aspects of fame. Dem shrugged. "We might as well take our lumps, Ross. I want to choose for them! I'd like to go to a toy store anyway, it will be fun!" Ross still spoke behind the paper. "Those parasites will trail us the entire time..." Dem walked forward and plucked the paper at the seam to look Ross in the face. "Well, think of all the fun you'll have teasing them!" He set the paper down on his lap in mock irritation. "Think of all the fun you'll have shopping with all your beaux tromping about after you!" Dem giggled. "They are not my beaux! Besides Jeremy wants a Super Striker set..." Ross smiled. He was not opposed to playing a tabletop football game. That was more interesting to him than toy cars, though he did join in all Jeremy's play with no grudging. Ross' smile showed Dem the bait had worked. Buying a ridiculously huge football game and looking at the toy train display would be lure enough to come with her.

Hamleys was busy. Not so busy that Ross and Demelza could blend in with the rest. A small knot of paparazzi trailed at a remove, young mums recognized them straight away and old grannys squinted and wondered aloud to their daughters, "Isn't that the girl on the telly? The one our Michelle goes on about...?" They were noticed. But having gone into the spirit of the thing accepting this and so, out of their element in a giant toy department store, Ross and Dem got on with the business of finding presents for Jeremy and Clowance. They looked at tea sets and doll clothes. They waited their turn at the Super Striker display as it was a sought after, longed for toy for most every young boy at Christmas as it was more easily played with than Subbuteo. Ross looked askance as the set was 30£. They could certainly afford it but was it worth that much? But knowing it was something Jeremy wanted, standing among other parents waiting their turn, the whispered remarks of surprise that 'Ross and Dem shop for their children just as anyone would', getting to hold the ridiculously large box under his arm when they secured theirs was amusing. Ross even had a bit of anticipation wanting to play it himself. Dem walked alongside half in a normal world and half in the gaze of others. It became second nature, to feel people's interest. To know they were being watched and talked about. It became second nature to ignore it too. They spoke of the toy train display as they admired it, they picked other items. They shared smiles of acknowledgment that they were their own circus in some ways, walking about with eyes upon them. They smiled acknowledgment that they were still here. That they were enjoying the mundane but lovely task of buying Christmas presents for the children with no need to wrestle with the cost of things.That he took her hand with a Super Striker set under his arm and Dem held his hand with an harmful of wooden jigsaw puzzles and dolly clothes, a packaged toy tea set made of real china, and they walked through Hamleys in all their different configurations; friend, mentor, student, lover, spouse, rival, penitent, partner. Partner was the most uncomplicated relationship. They were both secure in that at least. They were a pair, sometimes out of step but pulling in the same direction. The ups and downs of their life did not change that fact for all Dem contemplated leaving the marriage. They were an unlikely pair; a rock guitarist and a girl ten years his junior that became a rock star and his wife, onwards to a pop star and her husband. They bought the presents. They were shown in the papers looking at the train display, waiting in turn for the football game. Ross rolled his eyes at these. The one photo that fascinated Ross, did not annoy him, was a picture of them walking out of the store. They were not looking in the camera's direction. Ross was laughing at something Dem said as they walked hand in hand carrying bags of gifts. Dem's eyes were crinkled from smiling and Ross was laughing and at that moment they were the only two people in the world. He remembered feeling that. He lost sight of his annoyance with the photographers, he was not parsing the curiosity of others, he was not in discreet wait as Dem signed autographs for mothers who would gobsmack their daughters by presenting them on Christmas morning. It was just him and Dem. The cameraman caught a feeling and an instance he was charmed to see and recall. They had found balance. They were in balance again. Could they remain this way? Could they just? Let it be true...

Christmas comes but once a year. That makes it magical and they all enjoyed they day. They called the Paynters to wish them a Merry Christmas. Jeremy talked to Jud excitedly about his Super Striker game and Clowance told Prudie about the tea party she had with Papa and all her dolls. Dem spoke near the receiver as Ross held it and spoke excitedly to Jud and Prudie about the astonishing scrimshaw whale's tooth Dem gave him with a carved drawing of a female figurehead uncannily like the one that had washed ashore from a ship, the Mary Buckingham, three days after Ross was born and still sat in the library at Nampara. She had her arms around him and interjected comment as the warmth of Ross near, the pleasure of seeing him so surprised and delighted by his Christmas present and hearing the love from the Paynters through the phone before she sat to talk properly with them herself, made her deeply grateful for small things. They called Verity and Andrew for an exchange of season's greetings and warm regards. Dem sat Clowance on her lap as she played carols on the piano, showing Clowance which keys to press to help Mama in a sort of "three hand piano". Ross and Jeremy put Super Striker together and had a bracing match of football with the little plastic men. They ate a good dinner. They put Jeremy and Clowance to bed. Dem had put Ross' gift under the tree but she had not received hers yet. Ross made more tea and they sat in the kitchen, ate a bit more cake. " They had a good day..." said Dem, meaning the children. Ross put down his teacup. Smiled shyly. " _We_ had a good day..." They shared a look. It remained unsaid but the both understood his remark had not included Jeremy and Clowance. "Everyone has had their gifts except you..." Dem's eyebrows raised to see Ross fumble through his pockets. He apparently had her Christmas gift on his person the entire day. He produced a small box and a crumple of tissue. He looked shy. Ross extended his empty hand, palm facing up on the table. Dem lay her hand in his and he squeezed it briefly before laying the gifts in her hand. They watched each other closely. It was gift giving but also apology. It was gift giving and a reset. A new start. If a cat had nine lives, Ross was determined to live out the balance that remained the best he could. "Merry Christmas, my love..." Dem nodded and brought her hand away, slid gently away maintaining contact to the last. A slow removal of her hand that Ross closed his eyes to feel. He heard her set the box aside and unwrap the tissue. He opened his eyes as he heard her gasp. "Oh Ross! It's beautiful!" Dem lifted out a strand of garnet beads. They were strung on gold wire and linked with small gold loops, reminiscent of a rosary. A sparkling chain of four faceted beads interspersed with a smooth oval shaped bead in repeat. It was delicate and beautiful. The light left spots red colored glow at her palm as it shone through each bead across her hand. The clasp was two tiny gold acanthus leaves that met each other at their points. It was modest and spectacular simultaneously. It would bring prettiness to many of the blouses she wore without being ostentatious. Luxury without being too precious for everyday use. They were gorgeous. "You like it...?" asked Ross timidly. Dem shook her head in disbelief at the perfection of it, but made Ross' stomach drop at first because he was so nervous he mistook her gesture to mean 'no'. She looked at Ross fondly and saw the same vulnerability in her husband that she occasionally witnessed when trauma between them had occurred. Ross was not acquisitive person, not lusting for expensive things or thinking thing that cost more were inherently better than things that were inexpensive. He did not seek to dazzle Dem with expensive gifts. Dem saw his hope that he had pleased her. Not just that she liked it but that she could sense his contrition in his bestowing the gift to her. It was not materialism, though this necklace was clearly a costly antique. The money was a means to and end. It was not the cost that made the present priceless. "It's beautiful, Ross. I adore it..." said Dem. They shared a fragile smile. "There's another..." he said looking to the small box and back to her eyes. In the light of the storefront of the midnight chemists, he had first proper look at Dem's eyes, believing her to be a boy, so many years ago... Dem lay the necklace across the tissue paper and turned her attention to the box. A box within a box. Plain cardboard holding a cushioned, hinged box of fine leather. She blinked in surprise. This was more formal. The box was the sort Hugh would be inclined to buy, it was similar to the way the pearls Hugh had given her were displayed. Ross had given her two separate gifts for two separate selves. For Dem. For Demelza. Each heartfelt but one given by "Ross" and one given by "Demelza Poldark's Husband". Ross had kicked against the second role in America. Resisted the role. Might have preferred the roles kept apart if not able to quash the second one. But tonight the opposite was occurring, or a pledge that it be so was occurring. A fusion was occurring. The two sides were becoming less distinct. If they were to continue, Ross' acceptance of both roles was necessary. She opened the box. There, against a dark green satin bed was a carved cameo from the 18th century. A brooch a little under two inches high. It was a posy of wildflowers on an oval base, naturalistic and detailed. The leaves the petals, all details so finely wrought they might have been carved by fairies. A rose at the center with bluebell fronds and violets, strands of grass and leaves, miniscule, exact and entirely carved from a single opal. The warm and golden highlights glowed within the frosted pale white and heightened by a mysterious blue glow in various accents of the carving, quite apart from the warm glow elsewhere on the cameo in the strange almost neon like strength of its color picking out the edges of petals and suggesting heft and weight within such a small item. The surrounding frame was a simple band of gold. No overworked busy frame to take attention away from the main work. A work of art. A simple token. Flowers as modest as the blooms in the Long Field and the roses in her garden. The former planted roses of Grace Poldark that were hers now. Theirs. A complex token. She was a Poldark and Ross had bestowed a sovereignty upon her. If he was "Demelza Poldark's Husband" it was not so much because Ross honored her with his name in his marrying Dem. He was acknowledging that she had ascended somewhat. She had taken up the mantel herself. She had thrived as "Dem Poldark". She had suffered as "Dem Poldark". She persevered and broke through to her own ownership of their name. She was "Demelza Poldark" and brought her own talent and determination to becoming her own sort of Poldark, even as she was still Dem. Ross was bringing his humility forward to acknowledge that he understood that she was "Dem", that she was "Red", that she was "Demelza Poldark" and each facet of her life would be absorbed and accepted by Ross going forward. By doing so she was assured that being "Thy Sweetness" was not position that ebbed and flowed in the angry tide of Ross' moods. That he strove to earn the right to remain her man and claim her love as his by being hers utterly, soberly and trying his best to stop tormenting her. Dem looked up from the cameo. He knew not to give this to her under the tree. He knew the currents beneath the surface of a simple Christmas gift ran too deep to present it to her alongside the children. Ross was offering more than an expensive bauble. He was asking to stay. Asking to overlook his antics this one last time. Be the one to bestow that forgiveness one last time. And Ross would mean it, would work for it to be the last time. To stand by Dem's side in truth because he had her example to guide him. He would be a good husband because through every aspect of their life together Dem had been loyal to their family. Loyal to Jeremy and Clowance and the memory of Julia. Loyal in her leaving him, because she gave Ross the chance to right himself. Loyal now. They had been on thin ice. Things remained unspoken but it would soon be 1981 and Dem had not banished him. _Merry Christmas, my love. Let me stay..._

Dem had cause for humility. Ross had no idea she had been unfaithful. Ross had bitterly groused at her, when she returned from New York two years ago, full of tales of nights at the ballet and days working at Electric Ladyland, French restaurants and taking cabs everywhere, attending cocktail evenings and Tavern On The Green surrounded by celebrities, that she should be cautious not to let Hugh's lavish lifestyle and success with her dazzle Dem and lead her to become "one of Hugh's ladies". Suggesting that Hugh slept with his French starlets, which was not true. Suggesting she had a schoolgirl crush on her manager, warning her not to succumb to feelings of gratitude that might play her false at a point when she had already slept with him. Him and Blue... Ross was possessive and jealous and _too late_... Was she fair? Was she honest? Was her present to him as heartfelt? Sentimental, yes. The scrimshaw carving looked like the masthead that had washed up on Nampara beach when Ross was a newborn, a oft told story Jud liked to tell. She gave it to Ross because she thought it would please him. She gave it to him under a lie of omission. Ross had cause to make amends after all the havoc in America but Dem hid from her sins. She was not as blameless as Ross thought her to be. She had fallen too. She still lived as if it was Ross making all the mistakes and she the shining exemplar of virtue. Her gift was given in the spirit of the season and the false face of a wife Ross considered steadfast and true _. She gave Ross a bone_. Dem gave him the gift of a pretty bone. She buried her bones and then gave Ross a pretty bone for Christmas that showed her inner knowledge of their life together, the figurehead in the library where she first vowed to learn to play the guitar. The tale of it washing ashore and Jud carrying it back to the house with Ross' father when Ross was just born. All that linked them together in a gift that pleased him and made her seem like an honest spouse. She was not. Her nose ran suddenly. She pressed a napkin she was using with their tea and cake to stem it as she closed her eyes. Who's tears? Who were they for? Hers? His? Theirs? The beauty of the gift? The buried guilt that lay hidden in her choice of Ross' present, an irony that only dawned on her now. Ross' dark eyes watching her. Who was she crying for here? "T-thank you, Ross. It's beautiful..." Ross reached his hand across the table and felt Dem's grasp of it, fast, firm. Holding his hand as if she was clinging to life itself. "Dem..." That was enough. That was all that was necessary. They grasped hands and Ross whispered, "Dem..." They sat in this kitchen. They would clear up, they would retire to bed. The would wake in the morning and greet their children on Boxing Day morning and smile. They would continue. But in the quiet house, in the space Demelza needed to calm herself, in Ross' relief that she was willing to try to bring their marriage into a new decade for all his faults, in Dem's guilt that she possessed the cowardice to maintain her silence, to keep the bones buried, Ross realizing that, yes this was a guilt gift, owning that fact as true as he exhaled a pent up breath of relief, relief that Dem forgave him. Dem realizing that, yes, turing aside the dalliance of two years ago, leaving it secret, pretending it had no bearing on her marriage was dishonest, owning that fact as true to herself, clutching a napkin to her eyes. They came to their own truths in this moment. In this silent night, they held hands across the kitchen table and Ross whispered, "Dem..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muppet Show Theme, Sam Pottle and Jim Henson 1977 as performed by The Muppets
> 
> */****/****: L.A. was soooooo Poldark...
> 
> **: It's Christmas 1980. Two years earlier, in 1978, Dem committed adultery in New York City, not only in the canonical situation of sleeping with Hugh Armitage but by having sex with him and Malcolm McNeil. Dem muses over Hugh alone because her relationship with Malcolm is a settled issue. Red and Blue had a days tryst, over and above the ménage à trois of the previous night in the Plaza Hotel in 1978 and agreed that was that and keep the fact that they slept together secret. Ross never finds out that Demelza slept with Blue. Ross, in 1980, does not know that Dem was unfaithful at all let alone in such a provocative manner. 
> 
> Luggy: slang for someone from Illugan
> 
> Royal Warrant: officially designated as a supplier of goods and services to HM the Queen, The Duke of Edinburgh or HRH The Prince of Wales or their Households
> 
> the Sloaney sort: dubbed "Slone Rangers" the brace of young aristocracy that lived and socialized in West London from the mid 1970s to about 1984
> 
> Subbuteo: A tabletop toy(or sprawled on the floor)that simulated cricket, rugby, hockey and soccer/football game. Striker and Super Striker was a rival soccer/football toy. 30£ in 1980 would be about 120£ in today's money.
> 
> football: soccer
> 
> Scrimshaw: a sailors hobby that became collectable, scratching images in the surface of whale or walrus bones, tusks and teeth and rubbing a dark pigment to make it stand out against the light colored bone.
> 
> three hand piano: four hand piano is two people playing at once, Clowance is four years old and using one finger rather than both her hands.
> 
> Tavern On The Green: a storied New York City restaurant in Central Park
> 
> Gift of the Magi: a story written by O. Henry in 1905. of a young couple with little money still wanting to get a Christmas gift for the other. The husband sells his watch to buy his wife a beautiful combs to decorate her long hair and the wife sells her hair, cuts her hair to sell it for funds enough to buy her husband a fancy platinum watch chain. They now realize that the other no longer has possession of the items the gifts were meant to serve. They also realize the lengths they would go for each other and feel their love strengthened by this fact. Ross insists to himself he is not buying a guilt gift for Dem when he goes to Garrard, Dem keeps focusing on Ross' misdeeds and setting her own infidelity aside as having no bearing on recent events. When they do exchange gifts, Dem puts hers under the tree as a token from a seemingly blameless wife, giving a sentimental present that she knows Ross will love for its reference to his family and Nampara, feeling pride at Ross telling the Paynters of it and feeling good about it. Ross holds back. He starts to realize his gift holds more weight than he admitted to when he bought it and waits for the children to go to bed. Ross still denies to himself that he is trying to win back Dem's good grace. Dem is conducting herself as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. They cannot keep to this once Ross gives Dem her gifts. He is on tenderhooks hoping he hasn't messed things up for good and that Dem won't leave him. Demelza is confronted with her perfidy. She swept the Plaza affair under the rug. She continues to swallow down her fascination with and her on again off again attraction to Hugh. In this she considered herself "good", chalking the affair in NYC up to a sowing of wild oats that hadn't happened at a younger age. She can see her dishonesty more clearly and the ironic situation that her constant internal mantra when they return from America is "the bones must stay buried" and, unthinkingly, giving Ross a decorative animal bone for Christmas(as expensive as Ross' gift of jewellery, a high quality example of the scrimshaw craft) wrapped it all that should be good about their relationship and still presenting herself as an upright individual. Ross had f*cked up repeatedly in their marriage and is working under the idea that Dem is his long suffering, patient, saintly angel of the house. Dem, in this moment sees his contrition and her guilt. He is sorry because he was wrong but also because he sees Dem as so morally superior to himself. She liked that imbalance, she relied on the idea that her affair would not be repeated so it could stay secret and it not be a problem. She can see she was fooling herself now. She still does not disclose the affair but one reason she does not divorce Ross is this tangled feeling guilt.
> 
> Um, yeah. I really did plunge into 1980 with Part Two and L.A. and Xmas '79 still unfinished and cloaked in wraps and asterisks. Yep... I really did that...


	9. Because The Night(Or, Two Homeless Buskers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cultural exchange

Now that the weather was cold, Ross and Dem were indoors most days. Brose set tasks for them, exercises to practice their drawing and they continued to enjoy looking at his books and chatting with their friend as he completed illustration assignments of his own. Ross and Dem remained in the studio and did not eat in the cafes between busking performances. Instead, Brose went out to the various shops that offered prepared foods and bought cooked food for all three of them to eat at midday. The days darkened early and the studio became a warm, lamp lit home, full of art and talk and good food round the table with Mimi weaving herself between them all. He made sure they had fruit like apples and oranges in the morning with their croissants, ate a hot meal each day from the shops and gave them bread and soup as a supper before he departed to go home. They could surely manage a hotplate by themselves but Brose wanted to make sure there were no accidents after he went home and left them to sleep as he was breaking his lease agreement by having kids staying in his rented studio overnight. It felt nice to give them their supper, not just the cautious habit of a renting artist. Brose liked tending his little cats. They were talkative and charming. Ross and Dem were sweet and grateful, trusting his friendship and entertaining in their ideas and enthusiasms. They had good appetites too and Brose was anxious that they eat well and grow properly. Brose also was sensitive to the fact that, as independent as they seemed to believe themselves, Ross and Dem were still young. Young enough that setting mugs of hot soup in front of them on the wooden table, along with two demi baguettes that he brought with the croissants in the morning with an encouraging smile was only right and correct. 'They need looking after...' thought Brose. He also decided they were young enough that Christmas should not be overlooked. Being Dutch, this meant two Christmases. The English celebrated late in the month. No self respecting Dutchman would let any youngsters see December 6th without some evidence that a visit from Sinterklaas had occurred. Which is why Ross and Demelza, waking to what they considered an ordinary day, woke to a pleasant surprise.

Ross snuggled closer to Dem. The mornings were chilly and they often chose not to stir until the heat came on. There were radiators and Brose had a little electric heater that he turned off before he left at night. He did not have it on overnight for fear of fire. Dem hummed a sleepy acknowledgement of Ross' cuddling. It was so wonderful to have warm blankets and a mattress to sleep on, so nice to be near Ross and feel even warmer. They slept in their oldest jeans, now reserved for sleep attire alone, and old shirts of Brose's. Brose was a slender man so they did not swim on them like the shirts they wore from the second hand shops. The drowsy warmth was punctured by the quick movement of Mimi, Brose's cat, running over them. She stomped over the mattress and both of them, using Ross' head to launch a leap to the floor at the head of the mattress. Having heard her land after feeling her walk over him, Ross started laughing and popped his head out from under the covers. "Good morning, Mimi! What..." Dem heard him pause. "What is i..." Dem began to ask as she uncovered the blankets from her face to see what Ross was looking at. Mimi stood, looking at them, with a large wooden shoe on either side of her. Proper wooden shoes like you would see in a storybook. The wood glowed with age, the clogs were not polished, painted or shiny. They were mellow, smooth wood, pale and clearly old. Mimi stood like a cat standing guard in an ancient temple and blinked her green eyes at them with a serious expression between two wooden shoes filed with sweets. Ross perched on one elbow and rubbing his eyes and pushing his forelock out of the way. "Dem! What do you make of that?!" Dem turned to lay on her front, perched on her elbows to get a better look. "I think it means we can have lollipops for breakfast!" Ross chuckled finding Dem's logic sound. "Good morning, Dem!" said Ross sitting up. "Morning, Ross! Good morning Mimi!" As Dem sat up Mimi climbed back onto the mattress. They petted her and enjoyed her purring as they sat on their bed she curled up on the mattress and they each picked up the shoe nearest them. They began to investigate more. The heft and smooth shape was intriguing. It felt nice to hold. Ross marvelled at the colorful array of boiled sweets and foil wrapped chocolates piled in the shoe. Dem saw there was more than sweets to be had. "Oh, Ross! There's a pen knife too!" said Dem, struck with wonder. She raised a slim pen knife with a smooth, pearlised green and white handle. Ross rummaged in his with a happy gasp of surprise. "Mine's blue!" said Ross, quite happy to have a blue pen knife. They had two blades, a bottle opener and a corkscrew and looked very elegant. They rummaged through the candy and chose to begin the morning with lollipops. They were oblong and tapered at the top, a shape different to the round and oval ones they were used to.

Brose could be heard opening the door. Mimi walked to the edge of the mattress, walked off and then took a running leap over the steps to greet him. They heard Ambrose murmur in Dutch to the cat and walk through to the studio to check on them. He smiled, extricating himself from his woolen scarf, unwinding it from around his neck. "Goedemorgen," He was occasionally sentimental. It was very sweet to see Ross and Dem, hair rumpled and blue jean clad legs, smiling, sitting up on the mussed sheets of the mattress, each with a klompen in their lap full of treats. They were already unwrapping candies and that made him smile. He never denied himself a sweet first thing in the morning when he was young. "Good morning, Brose!" said Ross, excitedly. "Good morning, Brose! Thank you for the surprise!" said Dem waving a lollipop she'd just freed from its wrapping. "Thank you for the pen knives, they're wonderful!" said Ross with a lollipop between his fingers at his knee. Brose held his scarf in his hands, readying to put it away. "Ah, I told Sinterklaas I had two cats in my studio, and he should bring something useful like fish or a plate of milk. It seems he knew I was pulling his leg for he brought proper presents anyhow..." Ross laughed. "Is that Father Christmas?" Brose chuckled. "No, he is not. He probably knows your Father Christmas, though. They are most likely friends." With that Brose went to hang his scarf and coat up.

They went to the screen to dress. Walking through the studio with candy pushing at their cheeks, feet bare and their clean clothes in their arms. As he began making his coffee he could hear them whispering behind the screen, candy rolling about in their mouths as they did. Brose found humor in the determination of Ross and Dem to do everything together. They lived like each other's shadows. They dressed in the morning and readied for bed like two brothers even though Dem was a girl. Cocoa would keep since they were enjoying their candy this morning. They came to the table and sat down. Brose's coffee was already underway. "I have a model coming today..." began Brose. Ross took the lollipop out of his mouth. His tongue was orange. "We shall be busking today," Dem nodded, informing Brose with her mouth and tongue colored red. "We will be back by the afternoon!" Brose had a look of consternation. "It is cold today. You want to be out, freezing your fingers today?" Ross laughed. "My fingers keep warm playing!" Brose did not argue. He went to a biscuit tin that held a bit of money. "Bring back fish stew from the mongers, and potatoes. I already have the bread." said Brose. He came back to the table and left the money on the table, between their seats. He did not like to give the money for meals directly to hand for he, reflexively, sought to give it to Ross, the "true" boy and Brose struggled against the impulse of his upbringing to try to be fair to Demelza. They picked up the money in a naturally determined equality, sometimes Ross, sometimes Dem. They were like a spirit level in which the bubble floated at the center in perpetual balance. Brose, admired them, felt they were very modern, not so tied to boys being one way and girls another. Dem was dressing as a boy for her safety but the freedom to be like a boy did not diminish her femininity. Ross had his hair long, like a girl, but it did not diminish his masculinity. They were a pair, a team, and within it Ross was not the leader by dint of him being male or talking more. Dem tried to remain neutral to secret her gender but that did not make her 'second'. The little cats were quite equal. Even Dem being younger did not unbalance them. They might have been twins. "Thank you, Brose." they said, with smiles and colorful tongues.

Michelle, ma belle

These words that go together well

My Michelle

Michelle, ma belle Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble

Tres bien ensemble I love you, I love you, I love you

That's all I want to say

Until I find a way I will say the only words I know that you'll understand

Michelle, ma belle Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble

Tres bien ensemble I need to, I need to, I need to I need to make you see

Oh, what you mean to me

I do, I'm hoping you will know what I mean I love you I want you, I want you, I want you

I think you know by now I'll get to you somehow

Until I do, I'm telling you so you'll understand

Michelle, ma belle Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble

Tres bien ensemble And I will say the only words I know that you'll understand

My Michelle

Ross did not often take up the singing the main lyric in their performances, but the Beatles hit that captivated Paris last winter was better suited to Ross for Dem's harmonizing was higher pitched, much like the recording, and very charming. He sat up on the base of a statue, at the feet of the distinguished gentleman depicted, in his warm overcoat and fingerless gloves strumming accompaniment and singing with a clear, wistful sort of voice. Dem stood near, hands in the pockets of her coat taking up the counter point to Ross' melody in a casual manner. She leaned against the brass plaque that gave the information for the historic personage standing sternly over them, the open guitar case by her feet. They looked 'cool'. Two boys singing a hit of the day, looking street smart and sounding very good. It was a good pitch, between the metro stop and stones throwing distance from a nearby temporary Christmas market near the regular grocery stalls. The change jingled. People tossed a coin as they passed and some stood to watch. Dem's cheeky grin and clapping as Ross played the middle of the song on guitar alone encouraged onlookers to join in. The pleasant tempo, the bit of French in the lyric and the song being recognized from the hit parade made the people going to and fro happy and Ross' suggestion of it a real winner. They had not gone out busking much in the cold but they wanted to get a Christmas present for Brose who charmed them so with their presents this morning and need funds to do so.

After a good run of songs, Ross and Dem scooped out all the change and he put the guitar away. A mixture of holiday cheer and putting themselves in an area of steady foot traffic gave them a respectable amount of money. "We should go to Sennelier! That's the place Brose mentions most!" said Dem, filling her pockets with change. "Yes!" said Ross. "We'll find something nice and bring dinner back from the fish mongers." They walked along, happy to have good takings and excited to choose a Christmas present for Brose. England's Father Christmas must return the generosity of Holland's Sinterklaas. It was a matter of honor and friendship too. Brose had been so wonderful to let them stay in his studio and the wooden shoes full of presents was a marvelous surprise. Ross and Dem agreed as they were getting dressed that they must secure a present today before the weather turned more bitter.

They entered the shop. Ross and Dem inhaled a deep breath enjoying the scent of all the pigments and linseed oil in the air. It would poison you nineteen different ways should one ingest any of it but the aroma of the art supplies rivaled the joy of smelling good food to them both. The promise of art in the air. A scent of a security and safety that made them happy and calm. Brose's studio had the same smell but not in the strong concentration of this shop filled with wooden cabinets and shelves full of every pencil, powder, binder and extender, paper and paint one could dream of. "Bonjour!" said Ross to the man at the counter. "Parlez vous anglais?" asked the man. Ross gave a little smirk of chagrin. He always sounded English when he tried to speak French. Ross could not maintain an entirely French conversation but it did rankle him to be identified as a non speaker from the first. Dem was not fluent either but Brose had mentioned that some onlooker in a shop they had been in mentioned to each other, conspiratorially, that Dem probably spoke French and pretended she could not understand it as her own way of 'chic'. They mistook the pretty Cornish lilt in Dem's speech as proof she had the capacity. "Yes, sir. Merci, sir." said Ross politely. "How may I assist you?" Dem and Ross stood before him at the counter in their roomy coats and a guitar case in hand. "We would like to buy a present for a friend." said Dem trying to balance looking all about the shop in awe with paying the shopkeeper proper attention. "Did you have a medium in mind?" They looked at each other. They wanted to buy something nice for Brose but had no true idea what it should be. "He paints in oils and watercolor. He uses charcol and pencils too, but I'm not certain what would be a good present..." said Ross. Dem looked around. Everything looked beautiful... And expensive. "Do you think he would like pastels?" asked the man, a present easily wrapped and useful to someone using varied mediums. Safe. Dem whispered to Ross. "He uses them sometimes." Ross nodded agreement. The storekeeper watched the children in front of him pile a mass of change on the counter. They pulled it out of their coat pockets and he watched five fist fulls of coins clatter in front of him. Ross cleaned out his left pocket by digging twice. Between it being coins and not being certain how far their money would go it seemed best to render it up all at once and then see what was possible. "Sir? Can we buy pastels with this much?" asked Ross as both children looked at him optimistically. The store keeper chewed the inside of his mouth to maintain his bland, polite face. The temptation to laugh was not out of being unkind but would be unprofessional and the kids were serious to see their friend provided with something sensible. The store hand blended pigments and pastels for storied artists like Cezanne and Picasso in its long history on the Left Bank. The buskers in front of him were trying to buy quality art supplies like children bringing pocket money to a sweet shop and it charmed him. He gamely arranged their funds to count the coins and see how much they had. Ross and Dem looked to him expectantly, hopefully. He smiled, buying time to mentally walk through the options he could offer that would be reasonable. They could not buy a set of packaged pastels. Entirely out of the question. But they might choose four or five individual ones and he could set them in a box for them. "You might choose from the loose pastels. These," he gestured to racks in the wall to his right. "These are a large size and very fine quality. Five colors would be an elegant gift..." Ross and Dem stepped to the right to look. Another customer came in. He pushed their change to one side, to clear the counter. "Please, consider which might please your friend as I assist this gentleman." They nodded. To the background of rapid fire spoken French, Ross and Demelza looked at the rows of individual pastels. All the colors of the rainbow, all the hues of the earth. They were brightly colored pigment bound in oil and pressed into sticks like chalk. Again, the prettiness of them close to coveting candies. "Gosh," said Ross. "They are wonderful but what colors should we chose? They are all beautiful and we only can manage five." Dem looked them all over. They sat at the ready seeming to know they were special. There was a teal color, not blue, not green, both and neither. "That's pretty!" Ross agreed. Ross chose a deep rose pink, close to the color of the clouds in the sky when the sun went down. Two. "White! For Mimi!" said Dem with a giggle. Ross looked some more "Black." Dem gave a derisive snort. "What is it with you and the color black?!" They shared a smile. Ross defended his choice. "If there is white he should have black too! It's the opposite!" He crossed his arms. "It's useful! He can put shadows on things with it!" Dem conceded that Ross' reasoning was sound. She bit her lip. Only one more. They were frozen with indecision. The shopkeeper bid adieu to his customer and returned to the kids with the guitar. "Sir. We have four, but can't decide on a fifth one." said Dem. Ross nodded. "Five is nicer than four." said Ross. "Would you help us choose?" He nodded and retrieved a small box. It was made of stiff, pale colored cardboard and had a little lid that fit over the top, both covered in brown craft paper. With individual squares of wax paper he took the colors they chose, kept from rubbing against their fellows in the wax paper, point to point so they could be lifted out from triangular flaps. White, black, teal and rose pink. "A handsome assortment..." They smiled. It did look very smart. "May I suggest dark blue?" said the shopkeeper. Ross looked to Dem and whispered a suggestion. She perked up at this and they looked at the pastels carefully. "That blue, please." said Dem, pointing to a blue the shopkeeper thought far to light. The balance between the black ruined with no dark color to stand up to it. Too wan. "You are certain?" he asked. They nodded. He gave way. They were just kids after all. Such subtleties of taste were most likely beyond them. The lighter blue was added to the box and a couple coins were restored to Ross as leftover. "Merci!" They said happily and the shopkeeper wished them good day. Happy with their purchase, they went to the fish mongers.

Ambrose did not do much about Christmas day for himself. He was not a religious person and the festivities he grew up with were geared toward St. Nicholas day on the 6th of December. The British cats would have their Christmas, though. Brose gave them each a bright green scarf, finely woven wool, quite warm, as a wrapped present. He brought roast beef slices in a pot of gravy that could be successfully heated up on the hot plate and boiled potatoes in cream for the same treatment. There was bread and a fresh tasting salad of crisp, green leaves, minced shallots, oil and vinegar. Mimi had a fish to herself and Brose had pink lemonade as well as the bottles of mineral water they usually had to drink. Ross and Dem ate with their regular gusto, praising their friend for a wonderful Christmas dinner. They had gingerbread and a small log of chocolate covered marzipan that Brose cut into three pieces and shared. They had they same pleasant time over their meal and dessert as always with the extra happiness of Ross and Dem celebrating their first Christmas together with a generous friend and a roof over their head. As Brose finished his coffee, Ross and Dem finished their milk, they blinked a mischief at him. He looked at them quizically. "You are up to something." He said putting his cup down. "Are you plotting some crazy party? All the cats will come raining down from the skylight and dance all night?" Ross shook his head. "No. We shall be good as gold." Dem chuckled. "Mimi will vouch for us in the morning!" He looked between them again. 'Just high spirits from Christmas cheer...' he thought. They readied for bed. They washed behind the screen and dressed for bed, brushed their teeth. Brose tidied up and washed the pots and dishes they'd used. He left them aside to bring home later, wanting to walk home unencumbered. Brose wished them Merry Christmas and locked up to go home. It took a minute's walking, up the pavement, to realize there was a box in his coat pocket. He looked at it under the street lamp nearest him and smiled to see it was about the size of a cigarette packet, wrapped in a page of sketchbook paper, too stiff a paper to fold against the box and stay that way, and tied with repurposed patisserie string to keep it on. A Christmas present. "Ha!" he exclaimed, thinking how devious they looked as the evening ended.

In the morning, Mimi greeted him as usual and the children were slow to wake. Possibly loggy from a copious amount of roast beef and marzipan. He lay his sketchbook on the table with the morning's croissants and began making coffee. Like an alarm, the scent of coffee stirred Ross and Dem who woke alert and got up, anxious to know if Brose liked his gift. "Goedemorgen," he said, nonchalant over his coffee pouring. He turned to put the cup on the table. "Good morning!" "Morning, Brose!" they said quite at once. They stood, hair askew, barefoot in their jeans and his old shirts smiling. "It was interesting last night," said Brose. "I met your Father Christmas. He left a gift in my coat," Their smiles widened and it charmed him. "I said, 'How you know to go to Sennelier?!' and he said he knew two cats that told him so. I said, 'Is that how you got a pastel that matches to my eyes?'" They grinned. It was very dear. "And he said, 'No. The cats did that...'" He smiled, fondly. "Thank you, friends. They are marvelous pastels." "Merry Christmas, Brose!" they said, happily. They shared a smile and Ross and Dem went to get dressed. They returned to the table for breakfast. He doled out croissants and jam. Mimi stomped around Ross and Dem's feet and hopped onto the empty chair next to Brose. "Mimi did not see the pastels but I did use them..." he said. He wiped his fingers on a napkin, that they not be buttery from the croissants, and opened his sketchbook. Mimi with teal eyes, Brose with blue eyes and a wonderful smudge of white in them, like light, that made them look quite real with confident rendering in black lines and a blush of rose pink in the background sat upon the page with a strange ghost image on the facing page from the book being closed. It was a creative self portrait with cat that used all five pastels to grand effect. Ross and Dem were so pleased and impressed by Brose's drawing. That the teal was used for Mimi's eyes was an unexpected delight.

"Thank you." smiled Brose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because The Night, Patti Smith Group 1978
> 
> Klompen: wooden shoes
> 
> They were oblong and tapered at the top: Pierrot Gourmand
> 
> Sinterklaas: is a different guy, he is thin rather than fat and rides a white horse.
> 
> Michelle by The Beatles was the number one in France in February of 1966. The timeline of events in this universe is earlier than the real life chart. Ross and Dem leave the Paris streets and go to Italy by '66ish or no later than '67, before all the French riots and upheaval happen in '68.
> 
> binder and extender: oils, wax and solvents for working with pigments and paints, to thin them or thicken them for use
> 
> Gustave Sennelier opened his art supply store in 1887, still operating to this day


	10. I Believe In Father Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wish you a hopeful Christmas  
> I wish you a brave new year  
> All anguish, pain and sadness  
> Leave your heart and let your road be clear  
> They said there'll be snow at Christmas  
> They said there'll be peace on earth  
> Hallelujah, Noel be it heaven or hell  
> The Christmas we get we deserve
> 
> Greg Lake  
> 1975
> 
> Not a ruby brooch or a garnet necklace but the one prize that every musician and music label in the 1970s coveted- Christmas Number One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Repost of Part 7, the reconciliation from Parties.  
> 

November 1975

The trouble with being booked on Top Of The Pops is, though you know the day you are meant to turn up, the waiting is endless. The BBC never says, 'we'll record you at such and such a time', like sensible people. You just sit, waylaid for hours, until it's your turn.  
Ross sat, nursing a glass of brandy-one glass, he was nervous and did not want to be off his game-in the BBC studio headquarters, waiting, waiting, waiting. Ross disliked waiting. Ross disliked miming and felt he didn't do it convincingly. He had to be perfect today. Even though cameras and the men operating them would be shoved near his face and up against his guitar for close ups, he had to look like he was singing, convincingly, to an audience of one.  
He had not burned all his bridges, it seemed. A couple years earlier, the group, Slade, released a song called 'Merry Xmas Everybody', which went to number one at Christmas week. That began a fashion for the record labels to get a holiday song in front of the public, in November, for a chance at the last number one song of the year. EMI were willing to take a chance on springing a Christmas single and Ross suggested an acoustic version of a song he'd written for Demelza a few years ago. Demelza's Cornish name meant 'thy sweetness' and Ross wrote a love song that had been on the second side of Resurgam's third album. That album suffered in sales because of a scandal about the band. Dwight had an affair with the wife of one of Resurgam's roadies. When the affair was discovered, Mark Daniel, the husband, strangled his wife to death. The ensuing manhunt and the lurid violence, put the record buying public off. It was an old song but not well known. Ross decided to dust it off and redo it, just him and his guitar. He added a stanza to the chorus:

My bluebird, my bluebell  
Come back to me  
Come back to the love you know  
Under the mistletoe

At the last minute, he put those lines right at the end, to finish the song. The brass at EMI heard it, loved it and went crazy with the idea that they could press it in time to vie for a slot in the Christmas chart. They'd fallen all over themselves to get Ross into Abbey Road Studios and have it recorded immediately. Today he was to be filmed twice, in two different parts of the studio, just in case the song blew up as the label anticipated and they needed to air the song again for the Christmas episode.

It was artifice, but it was not false. The lip sync of the song had to be convincing even though everyone knew it wasn't live. Ross was nervous but he desperately wanted to win Demelza's heart back. He'd stopped his brief relapse into drug use and heavy drinking and she had returned to Nampara. But they were still struggling to fix their relationship. They were uneasy with each other and he never helped things by retreating into his old habits of temperament that were alienating to her. Ross could not reassure her that his love was true, for he had committed adultery with his former girlfriend Elizabeth. It rang hollow to speak of love to Dem, having behaved so badly. So Ross soon found it easier not to try, not to speak of his love. The embarrassment of betraying Demelza's trust, needing to take responsibility for breaking their trust, paradoxically, made it harder for Ross and inhibited him. The cursed constriction of his tongue, the curse of his inability to express himself. Demelza needed that reassurance and wanted to hear him tell her 'I love you' and be able to believe it. God knows she had reason to doubt sometimes. The hard times they'd lived through were made harder by Ross closing himself off. His shame in having repaid all of her love and support by acting out, and breaking their marriage vow left him cowed and he burrowed deeper into himself. Saying he was sorry was easy, persuading Demelza he loved her after their estrangement was hard. Why should she believe it? It was a problem that consumed him ever since she and Jeremy returned from London. How could he break out of all his morbid habits of temperament and make things right between them? A song. He could tell her in a song. He could tell her in front of all of England he loved her and was sorry and wanted to mend her heart.

The first taping began. He stood holding his black Gibson and mimed the words. He wore a close fitting black tee shirt and black jeans with his black riding boots boots, polished to a shine that would rival the most fastidious royal guardsman. He looked very handsome but also had the air of a penitent about him. He cut an extremely romantic figure. At the end of that take, he noticed that some of the girls in the audience did not applaud. Ross was put off by this. 'Was it not to their taste?' he wondered. In this, Ross misread their temperament. Many of the girls who saw Ross perform 'Thy Sweetness' that day were absolutely floored to the point where they didn't even clap, just stood fizzing and sparking with the excitement of the romance of it all. 'If only a man would sing to me that way...' they thought.

For the second take, Ross was perched on a stool. He was disconcerted to see the floor managers placing the girls who seemed the least interested in the front of the platform. Ross wondered if it was to keep them out of the camera's view, still not realizing that the girls were besotted and the Top Of The Pops producers were eager to have all these enthusiastic girls in the shot. Ross noticed some couples in the crowd, behind the rows of young girls making ready to slow dance. Ross stopped tying to figure out what the floor managers wanted as they directed the audience. This one would air on Christmas day, if it was necessary, and it was important that he seem as natural as possible in this very unnatural situation. He closed his eyes as he waited for all around him to be organized. He might have been asleep to look at him. He was trying to center himself. Thinking of Dem and how much he wanted her to see he was sorry and, though he could not turn back the clock, could not erase the hurt he caused her, he wanted to return to her. He wanted to be her Ross again and have his Dem back. Ross felt he was in the midst of the last gamble, if Dem failed to be moved by his Christmas present, if he could not thaw the chill in her heart towards him, he could not see how to change tack and find another way. If EMI was to be believed, 'Thy Sweetness' would, at the very least, be a Top 5 single and be broadcast Christmas day. Ross opened his eyes and watched the final, frantic effort of the floor crew get things organized. Ross exhaled and gave one last prayer to God or Pagan Britain or the unblinking universe that held the Earth in it's grasp, 'please Dem...know that I love you...'

As Ross ran through the song a second time, the Top Of The Pops producers and floor managers and the EMI people in attendance were becoming excited. Wrangling kids to look like they were having a wonderful time in an exciting TV program when, in reality, there was much standing around waiting and boring dead space as they set up to film the performances was very hard work. These two performances had the entire audience's enraptured attention and the girls positively swooned with their enjoyment of it. They waited with baited breath as the most love struck girls were brought forward, three deep. People who had arrived as couples needed little persuading to slow dance together and their ranks were enlarged by pairing some dancers together who didn't even know each other to dance during the next take. The room had an atmosphere like the new year's countdown, everyone drawn into this web of romance. The song had all the makings of a Christmas Number One. The audience reaction was enough for a BBC producer to turn to an EMI representative and say, "This song is going to be a monster hit..."

Well, it was done. The label and the BBC were very encouraging, but isn't that what they would say anyway, to anyone? Ross was not sure if he could bear to watch himself when it aired. He would return to Nampara tomorrow. He had told Dem, not untruthfully, that he had to speak to people at EMI. This brief space between them was probably a good thing. In truth, Ross set his plan into motion about recording 'Thy Sweetness' earlier in the month when Demelza's friend Malcolm came to visit them at Nampara. Ross stayed behind and watched Malcolm and Demelza walk off the lunch they'd eaten with Jeremy and Garrick running free in the Long Field. She had been happy to greet her friend and it was a stark contrast to the quiet misery they'd struggled through since she came back from London. He thought, as he watched them chatting and seeing Demelza so relaxed that he needed a grand gesture to win her back. Something so unlike his regular behavior that she would see how serious he was about his contrition. The love was still there, he felt. It had just been obscured by life for a while. A life he'd tarnished with his mistakes. Well, Ross thought, I'm clean again, I'm sober again and she gave me that second chance. She wanted it to work when she took Jeremy to the London flat. She wanted to return. She wanted Ross to repair himself and their life. It was up to him to prove her trust in him now was not in vain. Before Ross left London, he bought Christmas presents for Jeremy. He also bought a box of green and gold Christmas crackers, candy, nuts and chocolates as well as extra lights for their tree. He wanted, with all his heart, to have a happy Christmas with his little family. He tried, as hard as he could to give Demelza a Christmas present grand enough to make up for all the hurt he'd caused her. He still slept in the library. Ross wanted Demelza, badly, but he knew he hadn't the right to press the issue. He forfeited that right when he slept with Elizabeth. Unvoiced to Ross, Demelza would not dare speak her fears aloud, was a morbid fear of being compared to Elizabeth. He had now had sex with both of them. She was frightened that Ross might have preferred Elizabeth. She worried over it, worried that she was simply a sheltered girl, out of her depth. She had only ever been with Ross, was she someone he had taught love to but was not truly skilled? Not a sophisticated, posh girl...not a love so all consuming he'd set his wedding vow aside to have her, his dream girl...was she just a well meaning kid he'd been lumbered with? Could Ross come back to common clay after having his heart's desire, finally? It made Dem withdrawn and barred them from the final step they needed to take if they were truly going to mend. It left them in a sad stalemate that colored their life in grey tones. She still could not bring herself to restore Ross to their bed. She was depressed and nervous over it. He walked through the festive London streets, seemingly no different to the other shoppers carrying their holiday provisions. But, unlike the others, Ross had an almost childlike faith in these presents and sweets, these tokens of the season. He needed them to be the magic portals that made Christmas special. He needed to believe that what magic lay behind the season would not fail him. As he walked on with his shopping he held the fervent hope that he would would have his Christmas wish come true. That they be made whole again. That he bring Demelza back to wife, this woman who'd grown into his life and into his heart. That they find their way back to each other. Each day he went through deprived of her love was killing him.

December 1975

Ross drove to purchase their tree three days before Christmas. He had taken Dem and Jeremy out to Santa's Grotto and a Winter Fair, in Truro, when the first Top Of The Pops performance aired so they would be too exhausted to watch as they usually did. Jinny and Jud and Prudie were sworn to secrecy. He pinned his hopes on the single charting high enough to have it air the second time on Christmas day. He did not need to worry. In the run up to Christmas, EMI was ecstatic because the single, simply clad in a green paper sleeve with 'Thy sweetness' printed in white, Old English lettering, with a black and white photograph of a sprig of holly and mistletoe and the original Resurgam album version as its B-side, was flying out of the shops.

As he drove, he considered how things had improved between the three of them. Jeremy seemed to hug him more and trot next to him, wanted to spend time together. Ross could see that death of his first child, Julia, had interfered with his relationship with Jeremy. He did keep a subtle distance with Jeremy, frightened by the idea he would taint the boy. Ross found it difficult to shake the dread over the continual loss he suffered and felt, irrationally, that loving Jeremy 'too much' might make the capricious force in the world that took his brother, his parents and his daughter remove his son as well. It was not fair on the boy and Ross was trying to change. Ross was trying. One thing Ross could not do was turn back time and stop the calamity of May from happening. But Dem had given him a second chance, for all his sleeping with Elizabeth hurt her, for all his descent into drugs and alcohol shocked her, she still wanted the marriage to work. He bought their small tree, about five feet high ,very full and well proportioned, and a paper bag full of mistletoe at a tree stand set up before one entered the High Street. As he tied the tree to the top of the car, he heard 'Thy Sweetness' come on the radio playing in the lean to where he paid for the tree. He watched a young couple kiss when they heard it. The young man holding their tree to one side as he put his arm around her and they pressed their foreheads together lovingly afterward. Ross drove home with renewed hope, lighthearted for a change. After so many months of lonely dreariness and so many weeks of difficulties, Ross was returning to a warm house full of delicious Christmas scents, his little boy excited for Christmas and being back with his papa and Demelza, who still loved him, who seemed to smile more often now, who still remained out of reach but was less gloomy. Perhaps Christmas really could bring them together again...

Ross set their tree in the corner of the parlor. He would later put it, in pride of place, against the far wall, between the windows and the two antique settees, still occupying the room from the 18th century. The house was warm and smelled of mince pies and gingerbread. Demelza came from the kitchen to find Jeremy on Ross' knee on the sofa, reading to him from a story book. She smiled as they looked up at her, their smiles so similar. Ross had made much more effort to spend time with Jeremy and mend their relationship. She and Ross were both trying harder. They declined all their Christmas invitations and would spend a quiet Christmas at home. On Christmas eve, Ross and Dem trimmed the tree. Jeremy played with toys on the floor nearby. When it was finished and lit, they sat on the floor by it, all three together. They ate treats and admired the tree in the firelight and the flickering candles that Demelza had placed around the room. Jeremy flit from one parent's lap to the other and laughed and enjoyed being cuddled and joked with and teased about what Father Christmas might be doing as he readied himself to give all the good little boys and girls their presents and eating as many cookies as he liked, in the strange multicolored light cast by the tree until he grew sleepy and Ross carried him upstairs to bed. Ross returned. They both knew he would retire to the library, but they sat on the sofa and spent time before hand in an embrace. Ross and Dem did not speak. The silence between them was not negative. It restored certain aspects of their relationship. Ross knew he could ask to come back to their bed and Dem might say yes. Ross held her, felt no tautness in her, but he knew it was still there. It was up to Dem to allow that last step. If he asked, and she allowed his return before she healed her misgivings, before she was ready, their reconciliation would be ashes. He kissed her hair, bid her goodnight and went to bed. Dem sat a moment longer before she unplugged the tree lights and went to bed herself. She felt movements of warmth in her heart where she had not expected to have feeling again.

Christmas morning, Ross and Demelza brought an excitable Jeremy into the parlor to see what Father Christmas had brought. There was a set of many building blocks, a football, new picture books, a large box of crayons and a thick pad of blank paper, nearly as big as Jeremy himself. As their son merrily scribbled on his pad Ross pulled Dem on his lap and, having looked each other in the eye and come to unspoken agreement, kissed her. She wound herself around him and hugged him tightly. Ross could feel a tear trickle down his neck, but it was a tear of joy rather than despair.  
"Merry Christmas, my love."  
They remained that way for some time.

Ross and Jeremy, wearing the paper crowns from their crackers were working on a jigsaw puzzle together as Demelza laid the table for their Christmas lunch. They had a small turkey surrounded by little sausages and tiny baked onions, with mashed potatoes and gravy, brussel sprouts, roasted carrots and soft bread rolls. They put on their coats afterwards and walked Jeremy, hand in hand, across the Long Field. There was no snow but the nip in the air was welcome refreshment after the meal. They returned to the house. They ate mince pies and far too much chocolate. Ross and Dem watched, amused, as Jeremy played with the colored foil wrappers. They were crumpled into balls and split into two teams. Ross, Demelza and Jeremy were obliged to eat certain colors to fill their ranks. Ross and Dem drank their tea and watched their son enjoy Christmas. They watched each other enjoy Christmas, tentatively finding their way back to each other's love, knowing that they were both trying to make things work. That was the best present Ross could have given her, but Demelza was unaware one present remained.

Jeremy was put to bed and, as Dem moved to leave the room, quietly, she noticed that Ross had left mistletoe hanging in the doorway to Jeremy's room. She smiled. Ross was waiting in the parlor for her and as she went through the house she realized that Ross had hung mistletoe in every doorway! She giggled as she entered the parlor. "Judas, Ross! We won't get anywhere for kissing if you have your way!" Ross looked at her and smiled. He patted the cushion next to him, on the sofa facing the TV rather than the one facing the hearth. She joined him on the sofa. Top of The Pops had begun but, because she put Jeremy to bed, she had not heard the list of performers. They curled up together. Ross stole kisses throughout the program as they drank their port and brandy. Demelza popped a chocolate into Ross' mouth and was about to reach for another. She looked at the television screen and froze, for the presenter said:

"One of the most romantic Christmas singles we've heard for some time and destined to be Number One this week, Ross Poldark is here to perform 'Thy Sweetness'!"

Dem sat up straight and her mouth fell open. Ross put his arm around her and hid his face on her shoulder. He was too nervous to watch himself and too nervous to watch her reaction. Ross' eyes practically burned through the television screen as he sang, not to the audience of love struck girls, not to the thousands of people all over the United Kingdom watching in their homes, but to Dem. Ross sat on a tall stool, like a troubadour, playing his black Gibson and sang to his wife, his dear, his very dear Demelza. Dem watched, enrapt and felt out to grasp Ross' hand, unable to look away. Ross linked their fingers and he closed his eyes. He held his breath, he waited to see if Dem would give him the chance to make amends and let him love her once more. He swallowed down his fear, he waited. By the time he sang 'my bluebird, my bluebell', Dem started to cry. The silver scroll pattern around the guitar's soundhole reflected the colored lights of the Top of The Pops studio in a similar manner to the way the lights of their tree shone on it as well as the mother of pearl flowers on her twelve string next to it, on their stands, side by side. She whimpered as she looked at their guitars across the room, through the glaze of tears, smearing her vision, she heard the applause of the Top Of The Pops audience, she felt Ross squeeze her hand, and his warmth at her side. She wanted to try again. She wanted to say so but she could not speak. Ross looked into her face and wiped her tears away with his fingers. They looked at one another and he said, simply, "I love you, Demelza."  
He stood, gathered her up in his arms and carried her upstairs. At each doorway they passed, in the silent witness of the mistletoe, he kissed her mouth, gently. When they reached their bedroom, he laid her down on the bed and slowly, reverently, undressed her. Ross stepped away from the bed and removed his clothes. He crawled towards Demelza from the foot of the bed and drew himself over her. Dem closed her eyes. She opened them once more when she felt a warm droplet fall on her cheek. Ross looked at Demelza intently, almost shy. He blinked away the tears that were forming in the corners of his eyes. She looked up, past him, and saw the final sprig of mistletoe, hanging up over both of them in the canopy of their bed. Dem took a ragged breath that was half a laugh and half a sob as she looked back into Ross' face. He awaited her permission, more vulnerable looking than she had ever seen him before. She took his face in her hands and nodded as she said, "Yes."

When a Christmas tree becomes dry, they are highly flammable. The resinous needles and lack of moisture make it possible for a chance spark to set it ablaze in a matter of seconds. Much like the scant seconds of time that would see a dry tree engulfed in flames, the Poldarks, who had been so long apart returned to each other with an immediacy born from each of their love flowing forward after being denied movement for so long. They lay all their defenses down. They leapt at the chance to prove to themselves and each other that their love was real and remained so, even after so much pain.

At dawn, on Boxing Day, the Poldarks slept. Ross held Dem close as they lay facing each other at the center of their bed. His dark curls and her red curls mussed and mixed about both pillows as their heads fit together, just so. As their bodies fit together, just so. And their hearts. Their hearts, so worn and bruised and estranged were now fit together, just so. Mended with Christmas Spirit and beating in unison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Believe In Father Christmas, Greg Lake 1975  
> This was the actual Christmas single of 1975. It went as high as number two on the UK charts, kept out of the top spot by Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody"
> 
> EMI Recording Studios, where Resurgam and Dem recorded 'Valley Of Bread' in 1968 and Abbey Road are the same place. EMI formally changed the name of 'EMI Recording Studios' to 'Abbey Road Studios' in 1970, after the success of The Beatles' 'Abbey Road' album. I like to think that Ross and Dem stole a kiss in the middle of the zebra crossing, holding their guitar cases with Ned yelling at them from the pavement to stop all that snogging and get across the street.
> 
> football-soccer ball
> 
> "Ross felt he was in the midst of the last gamble" 'The Last Gamble' was the American 1955 title of Winston Graham's 'Warleggan'. The first four books were retitled in the U.S. They original titles were restored to coincide with the 1970s television show. 
> 
> Happy Christmas and all the best for the Holidays, Poldarkers! A brief excerpt in the spirit of fair use and the Spirit of Christmas, Ross Poldark, walking home from Christmas at Trenwith, written by Winston Graham, as published by Ward Lock in 1945.
> 
> "Ross thought: I am happy. Not the lovely happiness of the night with the pilchards, which was a life's experience in an hour. Not the bittersweet pride of last night when I made love afresh to a stranger. This is something different again, and in some new way the greatest of all.  
> ...He was filled with a tremendous sense of enlightenment. It seemed to him that all life had moved to this pin-point of time down the scattered threads of twenty years; from his own childhood running thoughtless and barefoot in the sun on Hendrawna sands, from Demelza's birth in the squalor of a mining cottage, from the plains of Virginia and the trampled fairgrounds of Redruth, from the complex impulses which had governed Elizabeth's choice of Francis and from the simple philosophies of Demelza's own faith, all had been animated to a common end and in that end a moment of enlightenment and understanding and completion. Someone -a Latin poet- defined eternity as no more than this: to hold and possess the whole fulness of life in one moment, here and now, past and present and to come.
> 
> He thought: if we could only stop life for a while I would stop here. Yes, just for a time. If one could stop for a time. Not when I get home, not leaving Trenwith, but here, here reaching the top of the hill out of Sawle, dusk wiping out the edges of the land and Demelza walking and humming at my side.
> 
> He knew of things plucking at his attention, but they were not big enough to trespass on this contentment. They edged round him, shadows and shades. They must all in time be accepted and dealt with. In due course. Not now. Common sense told him that after these plain concerns, life would raise others of greater and lesser complexity in the weeks and years to come. All existence was a cycle of difficulties to be met and obstacles to be surmounted.
> 
> But at this evening hour of Christmas Day, seventeen hundred and eighty-seven, he was not concerned with the future, only with the present. He thought again: if I could only grasp this moment now, hold it tight so that it could not escape. If I could only say, 'Stop!' I have all I ever want. I am not hungry or thirsty or lustful or envious. I am not perplexed or weary or ambitious or remorseful. Demelza is nearly eighteen and I am twenty-seven and we have found together a companionship few people know. Just now there is no wind and the sun has set and the waves are breaking under the heavy sky and Demelza is walking and skipping at my side. Just ahead, in the immediate future, there is waiting an open door and a warm house, comfortable chairs and quietness and companionship. This is all I ask of God. Let me hold it. Let me hold it!
> 
> In the slow gathering dusk they skirted Nampara Cove and began the last short climb beside the brook towards the house. Demelza began to sing, mischievously and in a deep voice:
> 
> "There was an old couple and they was poor, Tweedle tweedle go twee."

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Xmas Everybody, Slade 1973
> 
> Are you hanging up your stocking on the wall?  
> It's the time that every Santa has a ball  
> Does he ride a red-nosed reindeer?  
> Does a ton-up on his sleigh?  
> Do the fairies keep him sober for the day?
> 
> So here it is, Merry Christmas  
> Everybody's having fun  
> Look to the future now  
> It's only just begun
> 
> Are you waiting for the family to arrive?  
> Are you sure you got the room to spare inside?  
> Does your granny always tell ya  
> That the old songs are the best?  
> Then she's up and rock and rollin' with the rest
> 
> So here it is Merry Christmas  
> Everybody's having fun  
> Look to the future now  
> It's only just begun
> 
> What will your daddy do  
> When he sees your mama kissin' Santa Claus?  
> Ah-ha
> 
> Are you hanging up your stocking on the wall?  
> Are you hoping that the snow will start to fall?  
> Do you ride on down the hillside  
> In a buggy you have made  
> And land upon your head, then you been slayed?
> 
> So here it is Merry Christmas  
> Everybody's having fun  
> Look to the future now  
> It's only just begun
> 
> So here it is Merry Christmas  
> Everybody's having fun  
> Look to the future now  
> It's only just begun
> 
> So here it is Merry Christmas  
> Everybody's having fun  
> Look to the future now  
> It's only just begun
> 
> So here it is Merry Christmas (it's Christmas)  
> Everybody's having fun  
> Look to the future now  
> It's only just begun


End file.
